


Your Kingbird

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon, Episode Related, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-04
Updated: 2004-06-11
Packaged: 2018-12-27 09:42:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 34,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12078522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: "For any ruffian of the sky..." (AU set in episode 312, just for the hell of it.  w/ Hustler!Justin)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

The sleek corvette pulled up to the curb slowly, steadily, like some dark knight’s trusty steed. Hunter felt himself leaning towards it, like it had some kind of magnetic pull, some energy that he couldn’t back away from. Caught in some kind of snare. Hunter realized he could care less... it was cool car, and maybe, just maybe, an easy fifty bucks.

 

The car stopped right beside him. Hunter peered in the window... 

 

Score! Not just any john. 

 

“Figured you’d come around eventually,” he said. He didn’t even bother to hide his smirk.

 

Brian Kinney looked back at him, eyebrows raised. “Get in.”

 

Hunter grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.” He got in the corvette, paused. “Sweet ride.”

 

Brian said, “Thanks.”

 

“So, you ready for a big night?” asked Hunter, shifting position. This was strategic, now. This was key. He may not be a pretty face, but he had attitude and willingness for anything, and that was almost as worthwhile. This man seemed like he had to be won over.

 

If he and Brian Kinney fucked, he thought, he wouldn’t even make Brian pay. It would be purely for fun. The guy was fucking hot. 

 

Brian snorted and turned to him, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a dull thud against the side of the car.

 

Brian cursed. “What the fuck is this?”

 

*

 

This should fulfill his good deed quota for the decade. At least if he got Mikey’s littlest hustler to give him more information on this so-called cop, then Debbie would just get off his fucking back already. The woman had already interrupted him in the middle of an orgy. A very therapeutic, mutually beneficial for all concerned type of orgy. Christ! Let him fuck in peace.

 

Brian shook his head slightly. He knew a car like this, in a shithole like this, was bound to cause trouble, but he didn’t expect this. There was another hustler pounding on the window next to Hunter yelling something. Some skinny, mange-ridden kid in a thrift store leather jacket.

 

Before Brian could pull away, Hunter yelped “Shit!” and opened his car door.

 

What the fuck?

 

Hunter got out and shoved the other guy back a couple steps. “What the fuck are you _doing_?” he yelled. “This is my fucking trick, all right?”

 

The other guy huffed slightly at the shove, and then took a step forward, gesturing with one hand. “I don’t want to steal your fucking trick, Hunter! That’s my dad’s car! Please!” He sounded desperate. Brian glanced in his rearview mirror, and saw a small silver sedan pulling onto the block slowly. They were obviously looking around for someone or something, but that was hardly unusual. There were a couple of kids already starting to yell at the driver, _Hey mister how’d you like to..._

 

Hunter glanced to where the other guy was pointing. “Fuck.” He glanced at Brian’s bemused face, then back at the kid, making a quick decision. “Okay. I know this guy here. We’re tight. He can give you a ride. Just don’t fucking _impede_ my _action_.”

 

Then he took the kid by the shoulder and shoved him into Brian’s backseat.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” said Brian. “This is not a fucking taxi service.”

 

“No way!” Hunter said. “He can’t go back with his folks. Just drive! Shit, they’re almost here.”

 

Brian sighed. This was not what he had signed on for. “Buckle up, then.” Giving both brats approximately two seconds to do so, he gunned the accelerator and swung around in a smooth U-turn, then swerving to the right to avoid ramming the other car. 

 

He made sure to glance at the driver on the way past. Thin-faced, receding hairline, sad eyes, mouth clenched tightly. Your average middle-age suburban husband on his way to pick up a piece of boy ass.

 

“Shit,” said the kid in the backseat. “Shit, shit, shit.” He had this weird tone in his voice, like he was about to cry. It gave Brian a headache.

 

Hunter shrugged, looked at Brian. “So, where were we?”

 

*

 

Back to business, Brian thought. With one extra. 

 

Keeping one eye on the road, he checked out the bonus hustler in his cramped backseat. The kid looked kind of gray, but he figured it was either nerves or more likely, a thin layer of grime. He was wearing a beat-up leather jacket like you’d find at the Salvation Army, and a worn flannel shirt underneath. The shoulders of the jacket were almost completely ripped through. Ratty jeans, short-cropped hair that looked like it might be brown, or maybe dirty blond. He was facing out the window, probably worrying that his parents, or whoever the fuck they were, were going to give pursuit at any second.

 

“Tell me what you know about Jason Kemp,” Brian said. 

 

Hunter looked disappointed for a second, like maybe he’d actually expected Brian to fuck him, and then he shrugged. “You gonna pay me?”

 

Brian shook his head. “What about you, kid?” he said, pitching his voice to the backseat.

 

The kid started to say something, but Hunter cut in quickly, with “I can show you the bar. Where that cop hangs out. Will you fuck me then?”

 

“Hunter,” said the kid. 

 

“No,” said Brian. “Then I’ll take you back to your darling aunties. Or the warehouses. Whichever.”

 

“Shit,” said the kid again. “I know you.” That peculiar sound in his voice again. Brian glanced in his rearview mirror, and the kid was staring at him like he’d seen a ghost.

 

“You’re Brian Kinney,” the kid said. “I _know_ you. Do you remember me?”

 

Brian felt his eyebrows raise, and shook his head. “I don’t know. I can’t fucking see you in this light.” Pause. Something familiar. Maybe. “Where do I know you from?”

 

Hunter glanced from one to the other, but kept his mouth shut. The kid leaned forward, suddenly shaking off his lethargy. “No shit,” he said. “I guess you wouldn’t. We... In front of Babylon, nearly two years ago. Umm. I went home with you. We fucked.”

 

Hunter squeaked.

 

Brian slammed the brakes suddenly, and chose to blame it on the presence of a nearby stop sign rather than any sort of surprise. How old was this kid? More importantly, what had he been high on? Fuck.

 

He craned his neck to meet the kid’s eyes, and felt a glimmer of recognition. “You’re –“

 

“Justin,” said the kid. “My name’s Justin. How’s your son?”

 

Dead silence. Hunter blinked twice.

 

“That’s right,” said Brian. “Justin. The virgin. I do remember you.”

 

Hunter inhaled, gave Justin a look. “You mean. He took your _cherry_?”

 

Well well, thought Brian, I didn’t know hustlers could blush.

 

“Fuck off,” said the kid... Justin. What was it... Justin Taylor? Fuck, that’d been ages ago. The night Gus was born. The kid had named him. The last time he’d seen Justin, he’d sent him packing. Told him, no repeats. I don’t believe in love, I believe in fucking, et cetera.

 

And now he was a teenage hustler in the backseat of Brian’s ‘vette. What a small world.

 

“Gus is fine,” said Brian. “I haven’t seen him lately, but he’s starting some expensive daycare program soon. One of those smart kid things.”

 

Justin grinned, pulled his ratty leather jacket a little tighter. “That’s so cool,” he said. “I’m glad Gus is doing good.” He shrugged. “Um. Wow, this is so weird, seeing you. Y’know, again. Sorry for that whole drama back then, by the way. With the whole ‘falling in love with you’ thing.”

 

“No, that’s okay,” said Brian, before he could stop himself. “Actually, it was oddly flattering. I mean. After the fact.”

 

Can anyone say an _eleven_ on the Awkward Moment scale of ten? Deb was going to owe him so much for this one. He started driving again in the sudden silence, still wishing he could get better lighting.

 

Hunter made an exasperated noise and slumped down in his seat. “Fuck! And the weather’s fucking fantastic, too.” He looked over at Brian. “So you’ve already had him. How about me next?”

 

“How about you _never_ ,” Brian said sweetly. 

 

Hunter glared. “Just because I’m positive -“

 

“Hey, now.” Brian said. “That’s not –“

 

Justin made a little gaspy noise. “Shit, Hunter? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

 

Hunter looked uncomfortable. “Because it’s not a big –“

 

“Fuck that,” Justin said. He paused, like he was considering what to say next and plunging ahead anyway. “I told you that you should use condoms, I _told_ you...”

 

“Yeah, well, boo _fucking_ hoo you were so right. Fuck you! You don’t tell me what to do. You think you’re so much better than me, because you won’t let guys fuck you in the ass? Because you ... no. Fuck you.” 

 

Brian barely had time to stop the car before Hunter opened the door and took off, fading from sight in a sudden flurry of snow.

 

“Oh, fuck,” said Justin. “I didn’t mean to... I just. I told him. I kept telling him.” Christ, the kid sounded ripped apart. And Brian was supposed to deal with this how? He was no fucking social worker.

 

“He’s going to be okay,” said Brian. “My friends... they can take care of him. If he’ll stop being a stubborn ass and let them help.” He twisted in his seat, finally met Justin’s eyes. 

 

They were blue. He hadn’t remembered that.

 

“Can you show me this bar that Hunter was talking about?” asked Brian. “It’s...” 

 

Maybe he should throw the kid a fucking bone. Get his mind off whatever the fuck was bothering him most. Everyone loves a good mystery, right?

 

“It’s important, for a friend of mine, that I get information on Jason Kemp’s murder. Afterwards, I can give you a lift.” To where, though. The kid just nodded.

 

“Yeah, I used to go there sometimes, with the guys. It’s a slime pit.” Justin climbed over the seat into the front, nearly elbowing Brian in the nose. The streetlights illuminated more of his face – Brian thought, with an odd sense of relief, that the kid wasn’t quite as skinny as he’d looked before. Justin gave him some brief directions, and Brian started driving.

 

Justin was careful to avoid eye contact for the most part, but it seemed more out of politeness than any kind of deference. He looked tough, worn, a little older than Brian remembered him, though part of that could be the short hair. Still way too pretty to be out on the streets, although there was an added irony to that now. 

 

He’d be what, eighteen now? No, more like nineteen. 

 

“How’d you end up hustling?” Brian finally asked. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know the answer. Now that he had placed the face, he kept remembering small fragments of that one night with the boy – Justin’s naivety, his small, pale, child form...

 

Brian’s dick twitched, and he quickly focused all his attention on the road. It was slippery out, not enough to be dangerous, just enough to make him wonder whether Hunter had found shelter. Oh well, not his problem.

 

Justin didn’t answer him right away. Then, - “Do you really want to know?” he asked.

 

“No,” said Brian. “But I figured you should tell me anyway. You used to go to St. James, right?”

 

“Yeah,” said Justin. “I graduated about a year and a half ago. It’s... a long story.”

 

“So, talk.” Brian slowed down, made a left turn.

 

Justin cast a look at his face, then took a deep breath. “Okay. Basically, my father couldn’t …cope well, with me being gay. He tried, he really did, but I got kind of fucked up and we fought a lot. I left, and I’ve been on the street for about a year.” He shuddered, looked out at the snow. “I keep meaning to get a real job, an apartment. I know I could do it if I tried. But it’s kind of scary.”

 

Brian snorted. “A real job is scarier than hustling?”

 

Justin shrugged. “In some ways. I don’t _just_ turn tricks. I do odd jobs, I stay at shelters when I get burned out... anyway, living on the street, it’s good for my art. I see things that I wouldn’t, otherwise.”

 

“Like violence, rape, and murder?” Brian shook his head silently. He couldn’t believe this kid. There was something more there.

 

Not his problem.

 

Justin huffed softly. “Yeah. Like that. Pull over, we’re here.”

 

*

 

The bar was a shithole. 

 

Men in various stages of being old and tired. Wrinkled hands. Unblinking eyes. They huddled over their drinks, their shotglasses, ignoring each other. They only looked up at the occasional hustler draping himself in a corner, or over someone’s shoulder. Meat.

 

Walking into this place with Justin beside him, Brian, for the first time in his life, felt a little bit unclean. They paused just inside the doorway, and Justin pushed him toward an empty table and sat down next to him, leaning in slightly.

 

“He’s usually over by the bar,” Justin said quietly. “We... all of us told Jason he was bad news. Just this vibe, you know? But Hunter told me that Jason had needed the money.”

 

Brian glanced over at him. “You weren’t here that night?”

 

Justin shook his head. “I usually stay away from this place. Hunter and some of the guys still come here, but I didn’t really like it at first... and after Jason, I basically avoid it like the plague.” He looked at Brian strangely. “Jason was pretty, like me. Everyone wanted him. But he still needed the money.”

 

“...Why?”

 

Justin turned away from Brian’s stare and kept his voice lowered. “Jason wasn’t around very long. He started out a little after me, just as green. The others kinda put up with us, as long as we didn’t steal their tricks. Helped us learn the ropes.” Pause. “Nobody else had the rule except me, and Jason. He wouldn’t let anyone fuck him without a condom. You don’t get as many tricks that way, but if you ever think of moving past this life, it’s something you have to do for yourself. You know?” He turned back to Brian. “But the newspapers said they found semen.”

 

“They did.” Brian exhaled slowly. So he’d been fucked without a condom, obviously. Rape? A good offer? Or lack of other options? Either way, Dumpster Boy was still dead, but he seemed more real with every passing second. “Okay. Justin. Show me.”

 

Justin nodded slowly, and took Brian by the elbow and led him over behind a dimly-lit partition. Brian was startled by the touch, but didn’t show it. 

 

“That’s him,” said Justin. “At the very end of the bar. Do you want me to go with you?”

 

Brian squared his shoulders imperceptibly. “No. Wait here.” And he went.

 

*

 

By the time he got back, Justin had attracted the attention of several patrons. One of them was standing next to him, whispering in Justin’s ear, rank breath teasing his neck. Justin laughed softly, indulgently. Brian stopped dead, oddly annoyed by the sight.

 

Justin spotted him standing there the next instant, and his demeanor changed. He straightened up from his casual slump against the partition, and smiled. A fucking big grin, like he hadn’t been about to sell himself to a greasy-haired, closeted faggot, and was just _really glad to see Brian_.

 

Brian wondered for a second why it had never occurred to him that after all this time the kid might still be in love with him. That night two years ago and the days following were a distant blur to Brian, with moments of clarity enough to tell him that the kid was a pretty sweet fuck. And he had to admit it, a pretty sweet kid, too. Brian hadn’t been able to give Justin what he’d wanted, but he’d assumed the kid would look for it somewhere else, and find it, no matter what the cost. He seemed the type.

 

“Hey, fuck off,” said Justin easily, pushing the greasy-haired guy off his neck. “I’ve got a better offer.” He turned to Brian. “So, what’d he say?”

 

Brian smiled slightly despite himself, but sobered. “You ask too many questions.” He jerked his head toward the door. “You wanna get out of here?”

 

Justin smirked. “Where we headed?”

 

Brian arched an eyebrow. “No place special. Or... back to my place, if you want a shower and a couch for the night. Least I can do.”

 

“Sure,” said Justin. “Thanks. But I had something other than your couch in mind.”

 

“We’ll see,” said Brian. “If you play your cards right.”

 

Justin shrugged, self-consciously ran a hand over his buzzed head, bounced on his heels slightly. “Think I’ll have that much of a challenge?” he said, his tone nonchalant.

 

Brian grabbed him by the back of his neck, squeezing slightly. The tendons and vertebrae under his fingers made him think of little bird bones. Justin grinned up at him, utterly unafraid.

 

“You telling me you aren’t up to it, kid?” Brian said, steering him toward the door. “I’m very disappointed in you.”

 

Justin laughed, and they pushed through the door to the snow-strewn alley outside.


	2. Your Kingbird

Brian punched in the alarm code and slid open the door to his loft. He strode in, shedding his wet coat on the floor, trusting Justin to shut the door behind him.

 

He punched the flashing button on the answering machine. Two messages, one of them from Michael.

 

*beep*… _“Hey, asshole. Mom told me you’re going to find out more about Dumpster Boy. Jason Kemp. Good luck with that...and be careful! If you see Hunter, well. I don’t know. Tell him he’s still welcome here, and that Ben is worried about him. Yeah. Anyway, give me a call in the morning, I don’t have to open the store until noon._ End of message.”

 

Justin made a “hmmm” noise at that. “Those are the guys Hunter’s been staying with?”

 

*beep*... A slight pause, then a click. Hang-up.

 

Brian turned to Justin, who was craning his neck madly to look at everything in the loft. “Yeah. Mikey, my best friend, and his Professor. Taking in strays seems to be their new hobby. You need some water? Food?”

 

Justin nodded absently. “That would be great, actually. Nice TV. It’s liquid?”

 

“Yeah,” said Brian. “I got fired from my prestigious position of employment, so I figured, why not.” He shrugged. “Okay, let’s see...” 

 

Brian opened the refrigerator and peered inside. There were a couple of blackened bananas, half a loaf of rye bread, and some kale. Hmm. He opened a cabinet and found an unopened jar of peanut butter. Perfect. All hustlers love peanut butter.

 

“You bought a new TV after getting fired?” Justin gave him a strange look. “That’s kind of –“

 

“PB and J?” Brian interrupted. “Perfect food for a working boy. Except there’s no jelly, so tough luck on the ‘J’.”

 

Justin winced. “Um, I’m allergic to peanuts. But thanks.” He looked apologetic, but then he spotted another random shiny object. “This is so cool. I forgot how cool this place was.”

 

Brian waited until Justin became mesmerized by the coffee table before he very softly beat his head against the door to the freezer. This was why it was a _bad_ idea to take in strays. “How about some kale?” he said, but it came out muffled. 

 

He quickly straightened up before the kid could turn around.

 

“Kale?” Justin made a dissatisfied face. “You know, I’ll just have some water and crash for the night. Thanks, though.” He shifted from one foot to the other, scratched at his ear. 

 

Ungrateful brat.

 

Brian went over to the closet to pull out a blanket and pillow, and encountering no protest, he set them on the arm of the couch. “Oh?” he said. “No big seduction scene?”

 

Justin grinned slightly. “Raincheck?” he said. “I’m... I’m kinda beat.”

 

Brian shrugged. “Help yourself to the shower.”

 

Justin blushed, said “Thanks,” and bolted for the bathroom, like he’d just been waiting for permission. Brian could hear the click of the lock behind him. 

 

Not his problem. So he got out a T-shirt and a pair of sweats for the kid, and left them right outside the door.

 

*

 

Justin stared at himself in the mirror. Shit. Wild-eyed and red-faced, and not in a good way, either.

 

This was the last thing he had expected tonight. This was too much. Fuck. First his father, then Hunter having HIV (and double shit to that), and now he was in the home of the man who took his virginity. His first fuck.

 

The Face of God. That’s what he’d told Daphne.

 

Shit. He was being an idiot.

 

He took deep breaths. 

 

Okay. First order of business – take a shower. It’d been far too long since Justin’d had a real shower, a good hot one. As long as he didn’t think about his previous experiences in this specific shower stall, he’d be fine.

 

_The glass cold and smooth against his face, water running in his eyes and his hands and thighs and cock all rubbing roughly against the hard surface –_

 

...Fuck.

 

Justin stripped off his jacket, finally, and set it on the counter. Then he practically tore off his shirt and jeans and scattered them across the floor, barely remembering to take his shitty old Adidas off first. He turned on the water, adjusted it slightly –

 

_the feeling of Brian behind him, all large hands and warm mouth at his neck, pressing into him, giving him that sore, burning stretch of so good so good, fucking him, giving him new life_

 

He’d be fucked if he was going to make his only shower in days a cold one. This called for a fantasy of something disgusting, and quickly. Rabid squirrels.

 

Ah. That’s better. Justin kept his mind carefully blank until he was done. He toweled off with some fluffy monstrosity and hung it back up to dry when he was done. Shouldn’t push his luck. Brian always seemed like one of those guys with a wet towel on floor phobia.

 

Justin regarded himself carefully in the mirror. Not bad. His hair looked a little bit more blond now, and he chose not to think about what that meant about his previous level of cleanliness. His ribs stuck out slightly, of course, but he’d sooner eat dirt than any fucking kale, no offense to his host. Dick? Yep, still attached. Ass? The same. His knees were still bruised all to hell, but the scrape on his ankle was healing. Justin hated wire fences with a passion.

 

Well. Hello there. Justin stared at his face for a long moment. 

 

Head? Still attached.

 

For a moment he heard his mother say, distinctly, “He’s got a good head on his shoulders,” – and he wondered if she could have been talking about him at the time. God, he missed her. But he couldn’t bring himself to face her. Not now. Not for a while. When did things get so horribly fucked?

 

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. He shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t have even been here two years ago. Should’ve been a good little heterosexual like Dad wanted. 

 

Sighing, Justin grabbed his jeans and put them back on, not bothering with the shirt. As soon as he opened the door, he spotted the small pile of clothing at his feet. His chest buzzed a little.

 

He picked them up and leaned out into the main room. “Brian?” he called. 

 

Brian popped up a few seconds later from the desk where he’d been sitting. “Yeah?” he said. “You need something?”

 

Justin shook his head. “No, just... thanks.” He couldn’t miss the methodical once-over Brian gave him, unreadable eyes scanning from his face down to his feet, and back up again. 

 

Brian nodded. “No problem. I ordered some Chinese if you’re interested.”

 

Justin smiled. “Yeah. That’s cool. Um. I’ll go... change.”

 

Brian turned back to his work, ignoring him. Fair enough. Justin was lucky to have a place to stay tonight that didn’t have any fucking drafts or rodents, why expect special attention?

 

He was just another pathetic, homeless hustler. And one that Brian Kinney had already fucked.

 

*

 

After some shared take-out, during which Justin apologized for being such a moody prat (receiving nothing but a quick glance and a grunt for his efforts), Justin crawled to the couch and collapsed on it. He felt completely exhausted, the take-out settling in his gut as a hard lump. He didn’t bother covering himself with the blanket. 

 

He woke up later, still at night, and found that Brian had covered him while he slept. Justin took a big sniff of the blanket – it smelled clean, like unscented fabric softener. That dry, warm smell.

 

The loft was completely dark. Justin didn’t know what time it was, didn’t even know where a clock was, but it was probably pretty late. Brian wasn’t asleep, though. Justin could see him standing at the window, smoking a cigarette. He was completely naked, silhouetted black and green against the skyline outside.

 

Justin just stared for a few minutes, soaking it all up. He felt like going over to Brian, grabbing him by the shoulders and shoving him against the window glass. Stubbing the cigarette out on the perfectly polished wood floor. Then their mouths would meet in some passionate, cool collision, hard and methodical tongues, trying to bend each other into shapes. He’d slide down Brian’s body oh so slow, take his dick in his mouth –

 

“Did I wake you?” said Brian quietly. 

 

Justin cleared his throat. “No - no, it wasn’t you. What are you doing?”

 

Brian laughed softly, a harsh edge scarcely detectable. “Couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking about that shithead cop. Whoever the fuck he is. The look in his eyes.” 

 

The glowing tip of Brian’s cigarette reflected off the glass beside him. Justin didn’t say anything, just snuggled a little bit more into the blanket.

 

Brian kept staring out of the window, not really looking at anything. “I’m going to see Horvath in the morning. See if he can find out who the shithead is.” He took another drag. Exhaled it gently, the smoke slowly seeping from his lips. 

 

He said, “Where do you want me to take you in the morning? You can’t stay here while I’m out.”

 

Justin felt pained for a second, but shook it off. He didn’t have any rights to this man, no trust should be expected, none at all. “I live with a couple of kids right off Baskin Street. You can take me there.”

 

Brian nodded. “Okay.” He turned to look at Justin, eyes finally focusing. He shrugged one shoulder. “Sorry, kid, but you know how it is,” he said.

 

“Yeah,” said Justin. “Yeah, I know.”

 

Brian turned back to the city, watching the lights, the granite colored buildings, and the pinking clouds in the east, but not really seeing any of it. 

 

Justin just watched him.

 

*

 

After a few minutes he quietly squirmed off the couch, and went and got his jacket out of the bathroom. He brought it back into the living area, and Brian gave him a quizzical look.

 

“Can I borrow some paper?” Justin asked. 

 

Brian nodded in the direction of his computer, indicating that Justin could use the printer paper. Justin dug in the inside pocket of his jacket for a second, bringing out a few pencils, some of them worn down to almost nothing. He sat himself carefully at Brian’s desk and pushed the keyboard out of the way.

 

He started sketching, thin precise lines and curves. He managed to get the shape of Brian’s body and the window roughly blocked in before his hand started to shake too much to go on.

 

“Shit,” Justin swore. Bit his lip and watched helplessly as tremors shook the pencil from his fingers, as the pencil slowly rolled across the desk, and as it stopped - three inches from the edge.

 

He looked up and Brian was watching him. “What’s wrong with it?” Brian asked.

 

Justin grabbed the pencil with his left hand and started fiddling with it and twirling it a little, while he clenched his right hand and brought it to his stomach, close to his gut. “Residual effects of head trauma,” he said. “You know. Brain damage.”

 

Brian didn’t ask anything further, but kept looking at him, as if waiting for further explanation. Justin ignored him and went back to the couch. Tried to go back to sleep, afraid that if he didn’t, he might suddenly find himself explaining anyway.

 

*

 

Brian reassured himself for the third time that he was doing the right thing, and remembered he didn’t give a fuck what the right thing was anyway, and reached out to shake the kid – Justin – awake. 

 

Now, Justin seemed a perfectly decent individual, despite his peanut butter allergy and his flashes of brattiness, but Jesus fuck, he’d still been on the streets a year, selling his ass for cash. There was no way to be sure that he wasn’t putting on some weird act, hoping to make off with whatever valuables and pocket money he could find in the loft, depending on the kindness of strangers. 

 

What else was he supposed to do, take Justin to the _police station_ with him?

 

Brian reassured himself for the fourth time – oh, fuck it. The kid was still a motionless lump on his couch.

 

“Hey! Wake up.” He poked Justin in the side a couple of times until he started to groan. 

 

“Gimme another minute,” Justin muttered, and buried his face in the crack of the couch.

 

Brian grabbed the blanket and pulled, nearly dumping it and the body it contained onto the floor before Justin made a muffled squeak and jumped up. 

 

“Fuck!” he said, “What’d you – oh.” 

 

Justin gave Brian a slightly befuddled look, than scrubbed at his eyes, trying to get the grit from the corners. “Sorry,” he said. “I forgot where I was.”

 

“I don’t give a shit,” said Brian. “You just needed to get up. It’s nearly eleven and I have chores to run.” He’d already showered and dressed an hour ago, holding off on his schedule slightly to let Justin get more sleep.

 

“Right,” said Justin. “Your cop friend. Um. I’ll just get my stuff.” He trotted off to the bathroom and shut the door. Brian didn’t know if he locked it behind him this time or not, but it didn’t really matter.

 

After a few seconds he heard the water start running, and he bunched the blanket and pillow together and dumped them next to the couch. Brian ran a hand through his hair and huffed a sigh. Well. 

 

“This has certainly been interesting,” he said. He glanced around the loft. All of last night seemed like some weird sleepless haze, which in itself wasn’t unusual. Sharing the same haze with someone else was a little more odd.

 

To be honest, the kid wasn’t bad-looking. A little on the thin side from what Brian had seen, but kind of hot, actually. In a cute little twink sort of way. Brian was sure thinking about a street hustler in those terms wasn’t quite kosher for good _upstanding_ citizens such as himself, but let it never be said that he didn’t know a good ass when he saw one. Gorgeous smile, too, and that blond hair was probably a real crowd-pleaser when it was little bit longer.

 

Real pretty. He wondered for a second if that’s why Justin kept his hair so short, and felt vaguely sick. 

 

Jason was pretty, he’d said.

 

Brian wandered over to his desk and picked up the piece of paper that Justin had been drawing on. He could tell that the paper showed the outlines of his own body, standing by the window. 

 

There was something sad about the image, and not just because it was so rough and unfinished. Brian traced the lines with one finger, noting the exact place in the sketch where the faint gray lines had started to wobble, right along the curve of the two dimensional Brian’s spine.

 

“I’m ready,” said Justin behind him.

 

“Good,” said Brian. He gestured with the sketch. “You want to take this with you?”

 

Justin eyed it for a second, then shook his head. “No.”

 

The paper was held motionless for a moment in Brian’s hand, still extended towards Justin, and then he slowly sat it back down on his desk. “Okay,” he said.

 

Justin looked away. “Can I keep the T-shirt, though?” he said. “My old one smelled like – it was kind of funky.”

 

Brian ran one fingernail over the edge of the sketch, said nothing - just nodded. 

 

*

 

“So why’d you get fired from your job, anyway?” said Justin. He’d been pretty quiet for the first part of the car ride, but he seemed to loosen up a little after Brian kept asking him directions.

 

Brian shrugged and breezed through a yellow light. “I fucked the intern.”

 

Justin did a double-take. “No way!” 

 

Brian smiled grimly, and Justin started chuckling. “Oh my God, I cannot believe it,” he said. “That’s such a cliche. Did they catch you at it?”

 

Brian laughed. “Yeah, they did.” He fell silent, smirking a little, then continued. 

 

“So. There I was. It was late at the office, not a soul around. My dick up this guy’s ass, he’s spread-eagled on the conference table, screaming and moaning, you know, ‘please, please, oh fuck me’... And then his uncle walks in. See, he wasn’t _my_ intern. He was helping out on his uncle’s campaign, which I was basically running.”

 

“...Fuck.”

 

“Exactly. So this kid is begging me, just begging, shouting at the top of his lungs about how fucking huge I am, please make me come, and fucking Stockwell comes in and pulls me off of him. Says, you faggot, how could you do this to my nephew, I trusted you implicitly, you dirty fag... et cetera et cetera. Three seconds later my boss comes through the door, and sees this scene...”

 

“Wait a minute, Stockwell? The guy running for mayor?” Justin had been listening in rapt fascination.

 

Brian nodded. “Our current police chief, and homophobic politician for the masses. He’s going to win because of me.” He snorted. “I marketed him. I made him what he is.”

 

Justin cocked his head to the side. “I think I get it now. What you get out of all this.”

 

Brian glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. “Oh?”

 

“You get payback,” Justin said. “You may have screwed the intern, but Stockwell screwed you, _and_ after what you’d done for him. If... If Jason was killed by a cop, on Stockwell’s watch, and people find out about it... he’s screwed right back.”

 

“Yeah,” said Brian. “I guess you’re pretty smart, for all that.”

 

“I got 1500 on my SATs,” said Justin. “So I would hope so.” He glanced out the window, sighed a little. “Here we are.”

 

Brian slowed to a stop. They were next to some building that looked like an old crackhouse. Fuck, it probably was. There was a padlock on the door, he noticed, but most of the windows were busted out, allowing for easy entry. He wondered if this was actually where Justin lived, or whether it just seemed to him like a good spot to stop.

 

Justin shifted uncomfortably. “So,” he said. “Thanks for the couch, and the food, and the shirt.”

 

Brian grunted.

 

“And the shower,” said Justin wistfully. “That brought back some good memories.”

 

Brian glanced up sharply at that, but Justin didn’t notice, still staring into space. He shook himself out of his daze and turned to Brian. 

 

“If you need more help with anything, I’m usually around the warehouses,” he said. “Or if I’m not, someone’ll know where to find me.” Justin paused. 

 

Brian just looked at the road, trying to ignore the buildings around them, and the few people that were out on the sidewalk, soaking up the morning light into gaunt frames.

 

“Right,” said Justin. “Goodbye.” He opened the door and got out, shutting it behind him. He’d almost made it to the side of the building before Brian called after him.

 

“Hey, Justin,” Brian said. “You’ve got balls.”

 

Justin looked at the ground. Looked up and laughed slightly, incredulously. “You think so?” he said.

 

Brian smiled. “You do what you have to,” he said. “No shame in that. Takes balls.”

 

Justin grinned at him. “I suppose I do, then.” Suddenly cocky, suddenly all sunlight.

 

Brian let out a half-laugh of disbelief – he couldn’t _believe_ this kid – 

 

Justin took two steps, three steps, and before Brian knew it Justin was at the side of the car, opening the driver’s side door, 

 

and his mouth was on Brian’s in a warm, forceful kiss.

 

The next instant, Justin drew away and was gone. 

 

Back into the shadows, most likely. Whereverthefuck. Brian could find him again if he needed him for something. He knew that much.

 

Brian’s lips tingled, and he raised one hand to his mouth, feeling the new edges of them.


	3. Your Kingbird

Hunter leaned against the car and took another slice of pizza, letting the voices of the others fade to a hum in his head. 

 

One of the others had gotten lucky, found a trick that bought him a whole large pizza. Probably the guy had been afraid that he'd shake his little boy hustler's bones all apart if he didn't put some meat on them.

 

Hunter shuddered at the mental image. Christ. Maybe he was getting old before his time or some such shit, because shit like that never used to bother him before.

 

Before having a warm bed, and a guaranteed meal for the first time in years. Oh well, he'd soon get over his few days in Gay as Blazes land, Hunter thought. 

 

And besides, he was positive that they had already forgotten - - 

 

Fuck. There it was again. _Positive._

 

Hunter bit into the pizza slice and glanced toward the corner. His heart hammered, but he mentally squashed any sudden surge of hope. Shit. It was the guy, Ben's guy. Michael. What the fuck did he want?

 

Hunter tossed his slice back in the box, mumbled "Catch you later," and ignored the glances from the others. He tried to nonchalantly stroll off, hoping that Michael would take it as a personal insult and leave. 

 

"Hey!" he heard, "Hey!", and Hunter turned back with way less reluctance than he would have liked.

 

Stupid, such a stupid fuck, hoping for some kind of feel-good Lifetime movie ending. He probably just thinks you stole something before you took off, Hunter thought.

 

Michael glared at him. "Didn't you see me coming?"

 

"Why do you think I was trying to get away?"

 

Michael's expression changed, and Hunter couldn't figure out what that meant. "So what do you want?" he asked, and Michael reached into his pocket.

 

"You dropped this," Michael said, and held up the extra key to his apartment.

 

Hunter's mind went blank, and he immediately started bullshitting. "I don't want it," he said. "I already told you. I'm not coming back."

 

Hunter already knew Michael wouldn't take no for an answer. He knew it as soon as Michael's eyebrows shifted slightly, and he could finally read his face.

 

No. _Not his son._ But still offering Hunter a roof over his head.

 

Hunter watched Michael walk away, but his mind was on nothing but the imperceptible weight of the key in his pocket.

 

*

 

The bell above the Liberty Diner door rang out a solemn tinkle. 

 

Debbie glanced up from her order pad. Aha! Just the asshole she'd been wanting to see. She hadn't heard a peep from him since she'd crashed his goddamn orgy at the loft. She wondered if he'd thought any about helping find Jason Kemp's killer.

 

Brian tossed his newspaper on the counter and yanked off his jacket. "Coffee, Deb," he said.

 

Debbie automatically said "Hold your goddamn horses," and took a better look as she headed around behind the counter. 

 

There was something a little bit strange about seeing Brian Kinney dressed like a normal person at lunch hour. Usually he was all suited up in his Armani, Prada, whatever designer business suits of the season. Sitting there, acting like the greatest thing since sliced bread, insulting everyone in earshot, and filching fries off whoever's plate was handy. 

 

Well, he still did most of that, only in casual clothes.

 

He'd been hiding it well, how much losing his job had affected him, but he couldn't escape the blatant lack of need for tailored business suits. Right now, he was wearing a black T-shirt and some jeans, and frankly, he looked like shit.

 

"You look like shit," Debbie said, and plopped a mug down in front of him, filling it three-quarters of the way with hot, slightly murky coffee. "What'd you do, stay up all night fucking again?"

 

Brian gave her smug grin, regardless of the dark smudges under his eyes. "If you must know, I was up all night tracking down your illustrious murder suspect."

 

Debbie gasped slightly, glanced one way, then the other, decided that there was no one within earshot that would care, and leaned in closer anyway. "You _found_ the fucking bastard? What's his name? Is he a cop?"

 

Brian shrugged. "I don't know his name. I got a kid to show me the hustler bar where the guy picked up Jason Kemp. The guy was there. I talked to him."

 

Debbie sighed sharply. "That was fucking stupid of you. What did he say? And fuck these long, drama queen pauses of yours, just spit it out."

 

"Aw, but Deb, I don't spit. I swallow." He smirked, but thought better of it at the look Debbie gave him.

 

"Not only is that a _terrible_ joke, asshole -"

 

"He said that Stockwell was the best man he knew," Brian continued quickly. "That he'd worked with the man for fifteen years, and that he'd never seen a more honest guy." Brian leaned back and smiled. "And then he told me I asked too many goddamn questions. Happy?"

 

Debbie straightened up and nearly splashed coffee all over the counter before adjusting her grip on the pot. "Shit. The motherfucker! And he killed the poor kid, and who knows if there were _others_..."

 

"Others?" said Brian with a weird look on his face. "I never thought of that. I guess there's no way to be sure."

 

"Anything can happen to hustlers. But no one cares when it does, the _fuckers_ ," said Debbie. " _Just_ like with Jason Kemp. So," she said vehemently, "How do we nail the bastard?"

 

Brian shook off his weird look and said "Yeah, well, calm down. I talked to your boyfriend -"

 

An indignant squawk - "He's not my _boyfriend_ -"

 

"- and he said we'd need hard evidence. DNA that can link the jizz in Dumpster Boy's ass to this shithead cop. So I'll need to get some."

 

"How are you gonna do that?" said Debbie, heart in her throat. 

 

This was more than she'd expected when Brian came in the door. She'd half expected that he wouldn't listen to her at all. That he'd go on fucking his brains out with no purpose, and that his spirit would wither a little bit more everyday. 

 

Along with Jason Kemp - perpetually cold-cased.

 

Now, though, Brian seemed tired, but with new direction. A mission of truth. Thank God, Debbie thought. For both of my boys.

 

"I'm working on a plan," said Brian. He took a couple gulps of coffee, then stood up, shrugging on his coat and slapping some bills on the counter. He turned slightly, about to leave, but turned back almost as an afterthought. "Have you heard anything about a kid named Justin Taylor?"

 

Debbie shook herself from her thoughts and set down the coffee pot. "Justin Taylor. It seems familiar." Her eyes widened. "Shit, is he another dead kid?"

 

"No!" said Brian. "No, not dead. But his parents might be looking for him."

 

Debbie gave him a measuring look. "So, he's the kid that showed you the bar. A hustler." Not a question.

 

Brian just looked at her. 

 

Debbie walked to the register and pulled a piece of paper from under it, and walked back to where Brian stood. "Yeah, the name does seem familiar." She waved the paper under Brian's nose, but he reached out and yanked it from her.

 

She could remember what the flyer said, now that she'd placed the name. _Have you seen my son_ , in all capital-letters, with a blurry black and white prom picture of some sweet young thing with a gorgeous sunshine smile.

 

Debbie couldn't read Brian's expression. "When did you get this?" he asked.

 

"The boy's mother came in about a week ago. We talked for a while. He disappeared about ten months ago, after a fight with his dad." Pause. "She really misses him, Brian."

 

"Yeah, well, did she even look for him before now?" said Brian. "The kid is nineteen. He's legally in charge of his own life." 

 

And what the fuck is this? Debbie didn't even know how to respond. She opened her mouth - _But what if the life is being a hustler? Living on the street? What then, when he can just go home and stop risking himself needlessly?_

 

But Debbie said, simply, "She's his mother. She loves him."

 

Brian said nothing, and looked at the picture on the flyer for a couple of seconds too long before folding the flyer in half and shoving it under his other arm. "Yeah," he said. "I guess she would. Thanks, Debbie."

 

He picked up his newspaper, and the bell rang again as Debbie watched him leave.

 

*

 

Brian looked at the flyer again once he got outside. Shit. How did this happen? Pretty high school kid turned to street hustler in only ten months. 

 

There was a phone number, too.

 

Brian dug his cellphone out of his pocket and punched the number in. 

 

He stared at the digits on the small screen.

 

Then he hit erase until all the numbers were gone, and stuck his cell back in his coat. 

 

If there was one person that could logically understand wanting to be free of your parents, it was him. 

 

Yeah. Maybe he should call Justin's folks. Give them a tip on where to find him. Maybe there was just some big Brady Bunch misunderstanding at work here.

 

But still, Brian couldn't shake the feeling that it must be a bit more than that, especially to drive a smart kid like Justin to make mincemeat of his future. 

 

He'd wait and see.

 

And pass the flyer on to Justin, so he could fucking decide for himself.

 

*

 

"Hey! Mister!"

 

Justin shook his jacket off his shoulders slightly and stepped into the gutter, raising his chin and eying the driver. The car passed him by without pausing. "Shit."

 

It was fucking cold out, too, and still snowing in sporadic bursts of flakes. There were patches of ice on the sidewalk that Justin kept nearly slipping on, over and over again.

 

"Justin!"

 

He turned. Hunter stood there, complete with ski cap, attitude, and a sneer. 

 

After his blow-up in Brian's corvette last night, Justin was glad to see him still around. He'd expected Hunter to avoid him completely for a few weeks. He'd done it before, over less.

 

"Yo," said Hunter. "Did you take him to see that cop last night?"

 

Straight to the point. Justin shrugged. "Yeah. Why do you care?"

 

Hunter snorted. "What, I can't be concerned about my fellow man? The pursuit of justice?"

 

Justin raised his eyebrows. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

 

"Fuck you," said Hunter, a serious, slightly frantic tone in his voice. He took a step forward. "Did you fuck him? Did he let you suck his cock?"

 

"He let me sleep on his couch," Justin laughed, then he added, "And I think that probably says more than letting me suck his cock ever would."

 

Hunter huffed a breath in the chill air, grabbed Justin by the front of his shirt, and shoved him back a couple of steps. Justin inhaled sharply, trying not to get knocked off balance too badly. He should've expected this, shouldn't have provoked him.

 

"You think you're above all this shit," said Hunter, still holding Justin's shirt, balled in his fists. "I know you think that."

 

Justin slapped his hands away. "I don't think that, Hunter -"

 

"I saw the way you looked at me last night." Hunter's voice broke.

 

Justin didn't say anything.

 

"Like I was something pathetic. Some kid that didn't know any better, so you have to pat him on the head and say 'Oh, sweetheart, it's all right'?" Hunter backed away, and started to laugh. "I guess I'm even more different from you now, huh?"

 

Justin reached out one hand, but drew it back. "Hunter... When did you find out you were positive? Why didn't you tell me? Hunter -"

 

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Hunter threw his hands in the air. "Shut the fuck up and stop talking to me. You still think you're so much older than I am. You're not. I'm not. We're both the same fucking age."

 

Yeah, we're all the same age around here, Justin thought. Poetic. He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth. "Okay. I'm sorry. That's all I want to say."

 

Hunter turned away, his shoulders hunched, hands shoved in his pockets.

 

"I'm sorry," Justin said again.

 

Hunter shrugged and looked up, his anger fading as swiftly as it had come. The sun was setting. It wasn't worth it. "Whatever," he said. "Okay. In that case, all I want to say is that I'm not fucking dead yet."

 

"No," said Justin. "You really aren't dead." Pause. "Drama queen."

 

Hunter turned his head and smirked. "Fuck you. Anyway, I don't care. I've got someplace to be tonight."

 

Justin straightened. "Are you going back to those guys? The ones you were staying with?"

 

Hunter grimaced. "Oh, shut up. It's a sweet deal, that's all."

 

"Right," said Justin. "I get it. Sweet." He couldn't help but smile like an idiot. If Hunter had a chance, any chance, to finally get out of this, to go to school -

 

Car headlights struck the ground next to Hunter's feet, and Justin could hear a smooth, familiar rumble. The faint sound of tires on gritty, mottled blacktop.

 

Justin spun to face the car, somehow already knowing who it was going to be.

 

The corvette pulled up beside them, stopped, and the engine turned off. Brian got out of the car and leaned against the hood, looking at them over the top of it.

 

He raised an eyebrow. "A welcoming committee? I'm honored."

 

Hunter leaned forward, trying on a half-hearted leer. "I can blow you as part of the welcome, how about it?"

 

"Heh," said Brian. "Nice to see you too, Hunter. Hello, Justin."

 

Justin hadn't taken his eyes off Brian since the moment he had pulled up. 

 

Fuck, Brian looked good. Justin couldn't help but wonder what Brian had thought of his "goodbye" earlier. Or if maybe that's all it had been. A goodbye - finally shutting the case on their one night together.

 

"Justin?" Brian repeated.

 

Justin blinked. "Yeah." He rolled his neck from side to side, trying to get the kinks out of his spine, and saving him from choosing any other body language. "Not that I don't like seeing you again, but why are you here?"

 

"You said if I needed anything that I should come find you," Brian said. "I've found you, now I have a proposition." He shrugged. "Is the offer still open?"

 

"A... proposition."

 

Brian nodded. "I went to see Horvath, the good cop to our bad cop. He says to make anything stick to this fucker, he needs a DNA match."

 

"A DNA match to... the DNA in Jason." Justin broke his gaze and looked at the wheels of the Corvette. 

 

"Shit," said Hunter. "Intense." He and Justin shared a glance, and Justin turned back to Brian.

 

"So you want me to get it for you?" asked Justin.

 

"Well," said Brian. "Actually, yes -"

 

"I'm not going to fuck a murderer for you." Justin met Brian's eyes again. "I want to help you out, but I'm not that desperate."

 

Brian took a breath. "I wasn't asking you to _fuck_ him," he said. "I'd do this myself, but he knows what I look like. You can get close enough to snatch a cigarette butt. Or a fucking toothpick, anything you can lay your hands on." 

 

A pause, then Brian said "I would never ask you to fuck him. And I would hope you would never be that desperate."

 

Justin sighed. 

 

"You don't have to do it," said Brian.

 

"I want to help," said Justin. "Anyway. I guess it's just like in the movies."

 

"But only if you get the premium cable package," said Brian. "Where'd your little buddy go?"

 

Justin turned back to where Hunter had been standing, and found nothing there. He glanced around. "Hunter? ...Shit, I dunno. He could be heading back to your friend's place." But somehow, Justin didn't think so. He didn't tell Brian that.

 

"Good for him," said Brian. He motioned to the car. "You want to get in? There's no way you should go in that shithole bar alone."

 

Justin opened the door and got in the car, feeling oddly drained. Brian started the engine and began driving back to the bar, not needing to ask directions this time. He guessed he had a good memory for stuff like that.

 

Really, he should be flattered. Brian had tracked him down, asked him a favor -

 

And that was the problem. He wanted Brian to ask him all sorts of favors, but not ones involving murder suspects and fresh young bait. 

 

Just face it, he thought. Just admit it to yourself, at least. _I want Brian to fuck me again._ There, that wasn't hard. 

 

Perhaps his goal was not entirely unattainable, but if it did happen again, he was pretty sure there would be less melodrama. 

 

He can't actually fuck me to 'save' me from this, Justin thought, no matter what Hunter may think he's capable of. What I might think.

 

Fuck, look at me, Mom. I'm still a romantic.

 

Justin shifted in the seat. He tried imagining Brian fucking him back to a semblance of 'real' life, but he couldn't quite picture it. 

 

Still, it would be appropriate, considering the circumstances and repercussions of their one night stand. That'd been the beginning of Justin's real life, right then. He'd been reborn, a full-fledged gay man, no longer just some boy who thought he might be queer.

 

And even after getting blown off by Brian afterwards, his life as a gay man had been far from bad. He'd had a couple of boyfriends, gotten laid, tried to start a Gay/Straight Alliance. He'd been a good little homosexual. Fuck, he'd even taken a boy to the prom with him, and -

 

"Are you sure you're okay doing this?" said Brian. "You look pale."

 

Justin nodded, but then said abruptly, before he'd even formulated the words, "I don't actually know. I think I'm kind of freaking out."

 

He sounded way too calm. Brian cast another sideways glance at him, and whatever he saw prompted him to pull the car over and put the parking brake on. 

 

"Shit," said Brian. "I said you don't have to -"

 

"No," said Justin. "That's not it. I just - I was just remembering my high school prom, if you can believe it." He laughed painfully.

 

Brian apparently couldn't believe it, because he looked at Justin like he was insane. He didn't seem to notice that one of his hands had found its way to the back of Justin's neck and was softly rubbing the short hair at his nape.

 

Justin took a shuddering breath and leaned into the touch. Brian blinked, and his hand stilled, but stayed where it was.

 

"I took a boy to my prom," said Justin. "His name was Rick. He was a cool guy."

 

Brian just looked at him, and nodded slowly. Silently telling him to go on, realizing that there was more to this than some teenage tryst.

 

"We danced together. I don't remember that part, but I remember the part afterwards. I was walking Rick to his car, and this other guy, he was on the football team -, his name was Chris Hobbes - he took a baseball bat to my head."

 

Brian closed his eyes. "I see."

 

"Do you?" said Justin. "I was so fucked up. I was in a coma for weeks. Rick never came to visit - he said he couldn't deal with it, the fucker. My father -" Justin's voice cracked. "Oh, christ, my father. He couldn't deal with it either."

 

"Just don't," Brian stopped, swallowed. "Just don't let it bother you. It's past, right? You're past it."

 

"No," said Justin. "I'm not. I guess I'm not. _Fuck._ I thought I was. I haven't freaked out like this in months."

 

Brian took his hand from Justin's neck. "This was a bad idea."

 

Justin shook his head. "No. Fuck this shit. Take me there."

 

"I don't -"

 

"I'll be fine. I feel better now that I told you." Justin looked over at him. "Brian, I really want to help you."

 

Brian smiled wanly. "What help would you be if you threw up on the guy's shoes?"

 

Justin shrugged and smiled back, even if it seemed a little stretched. "While he's cursing and trying to wipe my vomit off his loafers, I snatch a few strands of his hair?"

 

Brian laughed, and started the car. "Okay, okay, but if you start to freak again, it's over. And I'm going to be within five feet of you at all times."

 

Brian paused, still grinning, and a weird expression came over his face. Justin noticed.

 

"What is it?"

 

Brian shook his head, but kept watching the road. He finally just said it bluntly.

 

"I forgot for a minute that you're a hustler."

 

Justin softly drummed his fingers on the bottom of the side window. "That shouldn't matter," he said. "I'm more than that. You know that I'm more than that."

 

"You don't know what I know." 

 

"You know me," said Justin. "Technically, we've only been acquainted a grand total of a couple of days, but you already know most of my psychological issues and most of my allergies. That's more than most know about me, these days."

 

"You're a sweet kid," said Brian. "Real sweet. You don't deserve any of this shit."

 

"Thanks," said Justin.

 

"And don't take that as a fucking compliment," said Brian. "You deserve more than that, too."

 

Justin exhaled. "Yeah, I know. And let's not talk about it, if you don't mind. I already get enough of the 'better than this' lecture from my subconscious."

 

Brian fell silent.

 

Approximately three minutes later, his hand was on the back of Justin's neck again, and it stayed there.


	4. Your Kingbird

“I can’t believe it,” said Brian. “The fucker didn’t show up.”

 

He unlocked the car door for Justin, then walked around to the driver’s side.

 

Justin shrugged. “We can come back tomorrow and try again. It’s no big deal.”

 

Brian looked up at him for a moment, and shook his head. “It is,” he said. “Call me crazy, but I hardly think you really want to go in that place again.”

 

Justin got in the corvette, and waited until Brian had settled in next to him and put his keys in the ignition before answering.

 

“You’re right,” said Justin. “I don’t.” He paused. “But maybe the reason that he – no, nevermind.”

 

Brian paused and turned to him. “What?”

 

“I could be wrong. But I think... I think that maybe Hunter would do anything for you.”

 

It took a moment to register. Brian closed his eyes. “Fuck.”

 

Justin looked out the window. “He might’ve gotten to the cop before us. You know... It’s not just him wanting to fuck you. He wants your approval. I think... I think you inspire him.”

 

“Fuck that,” said Brian, “He doesn’t need my fucking approval _or_ my fucking dick in his mouth. He’s just a kid.”

 

“Yeah,” said Justin. “But that doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

 

Brian pressed his lips together and started the engine, slowly pulling out from the curb. 

 

“If anything happens to him, Mikey’ll kill me,” he said. 

 

He glanced over at Justin. 

 

They’d stayed in the bar a couple of hours before finally giving up, assuming that the shithead cop wasn’t coming. If Brian were by himself, he would have stayed longer, but he had Justin to consider. 

 

Although, Justin seemed better after his earlier moment in the corvette. Their only actual conversation in the bar had been some sarcastic observations of the bar’s patrons and a couple of playful nudges, so Brian wasn’t sure how Justin was feeling about everything... but, he seemed okay. 

 

While in the bar they had acted like hustler and potential trick, trying not to look out of place. As a result, Justin had to sit way too close for Brian’s taste. He had nuzzled into Brian’s neck a couple of times, stuck his mouth right by Brian’s ear, and kept whispering that acerbic commentary that Brian couldn’t help but find strangely hot. 

 

He had a headache by the time they left, from the juxtaposition of the filthy bar and the pretty boy beside him. One brought him down, and the other brought him up again – yeah, in more ways than one.

 

Brian had watched him for a while by the yellowing bar light, as they waited. He’d tried to remember the first time he’d seen Justin, two years ago, out front of Babylon.

 

It was after Brian had gotten a really bad blowjob in the back room. He had been bored out of his fucking mind, he’d been about to get in his car and go home, and then... he looked over and saw this kid...

 

And he’d done his thing. Picked up Justin and took him home. He’d gotten high, gotten naked, gotten wet and hard and taken the kid’s virginity six ways from Sunday. The usual. Nothing incredible.

 

But Brian still remembered vague stupid things from that night, like the paleness of Justin’s eyebrows, and his fucking blathering about cereal, and Justin naming Gus at the hospital. 

 

And Brian remembered the sex, too. Not a lot of specifics, just that there’d been a lot of it, and it’d been hot. He remembered telling Michael that the kid had nearly worn him out. That didn’t happen often.

 

“I’m kind of hungry,” said Justin, breaking the awkward pause, and Brian shook himself from his thoughts.

 

“There’s nothing at the loft,” _goddamned peanut-butter allergic hustlers_ , “but the diner is still open,” Brian said.

 

Justin nodded slightly, said, “The Liberty Diner? I’ve been there. They know me.” He said it with a weird emphasis on the word “know” that Brian immediately picked up on, thought about, and discarded.

 

Brian shrugged. “Okay.”

 

“That doesn’t bother you?”

 

“You’re assuming,” Brian smiled, “That I actually give a damn about anyone’s reputation anymore – especially my own. Sure. Yeah. The waitresses will gossip about Brian Kinney buying a young, hot hustler his late night snack, but so the fuck what.”

 

Justin grinned. “Thanks.” He paused, then said in a sing-song-y undertone, “Brian Kinney thinks I’m hot...”

 

Brian cast him a glance. He raised one eyebrow. “I was, of course, referring to Hunter.”

 

“Of course,” said Justin, but he didn’t stop grinning. Fuck, no unkempt boy hustler should make Brian this horny. If he could get Justin to sleep at the loft again, probably not very hard to do, then maybe...

 

But then he thought of Hunter, and his horniness was temporarily set aside. Fucking idiot _child_. Brian was sure that Justin’s assumption was right. Hunter had basically stolen the cop right from under their noses in order to get the DNA. Which would be, of course, why the cop had never shown up at the bar. The kid was probably off somewhere fucking him right now.

 

And somehow, all of this was going to be Brian’s fault. Fuck. He didn’t know what would be worse... Mikey killing him quickly or Ben killing him slowly... or Mikey killing him and Ben carefully gathering up his still warm corpse to make some stir-fry tofu shit.

 

The littlest hustler had better not get himself murdered.

 

*

 

Brian would have entered the diner first, but it seemed too obvious to jockey for position, so Justin pushed open the door and went in, and Brian followed him closely. 

 

Hopefully Debbie wouldn’t be here. She might not have recognized Justin on his previous visits, especially considering the blurriness of the flyer’s picture and Justin’s new close-cropped and gritty look, but seeing him with Brian would be a dead tip-off.

 

The after-Babylon crowd was just starting to thin out. The cheerful, bright colors of the diner coupled with the straggling, just-got-laid, covered-in-glitter clientele made Brian’s headache worse.

 

“Here,” he said, and pushed Justin toward an empty booth. Justin sat down and looked back at him, and as his eyes widened almost imperceptibly, Brian knew who was standing behind him.

 

“Debbie,” said Brian cordially, not turning around. “I didn’t know this was your shift tonight.”

 

“You fucking asshole,” said Debbie, and smacked him in the head with her order pad. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing with this kid?”

 

Brian winced. “I’m not doing anything,” he said, added silently, _yet_ \- and he sat down in the booth across from Justin. Luckily, Justin wasn’t saying a word, letting Brian handle the situation.

 

“Did you think I wouldn’t recognize him?” Debbie said angrily. “You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

 

Justin looked up, brow furrowed questioningly, and opened his mouth to speak.

 

Debbie turned to him. “Sweetie, is your name Justin?”

 

Justin blinked at her.

 

Debbie gave Brian a meaningful look, and said “I think that’s all I need to say.” She turned and went to another table without taking their order, but Brian saw she kept glancing back at the two of them.

 

“Brian?” said Justin. “What was that all about?”

 

Brian cleared his throat. Already time to have this conversation. He’d hoped to get the kid a full night’s sleep first, so Justin could think logically about it. 

 

“Debbie is upset,” he said, “Because I told her you helped me the other day, and she recognized your name.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket, and held it out for Justin to take. 

 

“I thought I should pass this on to you,” Brian said.

 

Justin read the flyer without saying a word, but his mouth tightened.

 

“I didn’t call her,” said Brian. “That’s your choice. If you want, I can make sure Debbie doesn’t call her either.”

 

Justin looked up, face utterly blank. “I don’t know,” he said. He swallowed, closed his eyes, and slid the flyer back across the table to Brian. 

 

_Have you seen my son?_

 

“It’s an opportunity. You could go back home, get out of hustling,” Brian said, wanting to make sure Justin understood. Then he cursed himself for sounding like some sort of demented after school special.

 

Justin fidgeted with the napkin holder. “Or maybe not,” he said, and looked up. “Thank you for letting me make my own decision.”

 

Brian acknowledged him with a nod. “And this is your decision?” he asked.

 

Justin stared at Brian’s face for a few seconds. “I don’t know,” he said again.

 

Debbie walked up and slammed the order pad down on the table.

 

“Deb,” Brian started before Debbie could speak, “I’ve just talked to Justin about his mother, and he’s considering getting in touch. So let the boy handle it himself. He’s a grown-up.”

 

Debbie fell silent, and gave Justin an appraising glance. “Hmm,” she said, “I’ve got my eye on you, but that’s good enough for now.” She paused, added more gently, “I know it can’t be easy. But however bad it seemed at home... Your folks want you back.”

 

Justin looked away uneasily. Brian decided the subject should be changed immediately.

 

“By the way, Justin,” said Brian, “This is Debbie. You may have seen her around. She’s the self-appointed matriarch of our fine Liberty Avenue society.” 

 

Debbie laughed loudly. “Fine, asshole, I forgive you,” she told Brian. Justin laughed softly at that, and Debbie turned to him.

 

She looked him over from head to toe, and nodded absently. “Well, you definitely need some food in you. Shall I serve you tonight’s special? Tuna casserole melt with fries and a shake...”

 

Justin nodded. “Yes, please,” he said, and Brian half-expected him to pitch on a “ma’am” at the end for good measure. Justin was probably terrified, just hiding it well. Debbie had that effect on people.

 

Debbie’s eyes crinkled, and she pinched his cheek roughly. “You’ve got a fucking gorgeous smile, kid.”

 

Justin smiled a little bit wider at that. “It’s nice to meet you, Debbie,” he said.

 

Debbie grinned and left to take their order, tossing a smug “ha!” over her shoulder at Brian.

 

*

 

Hunter tried to maneuver through the darkened kitchen without bumping into anything. The only light shined through the window from the dim streetlight outside.

 

“Fuck,” he hissed as he rammed his knee into the wastebasket. “Shit.”

 

He heard a rustling noise from the room behind him, and without turning around he yelled, “Gotta go! Things to see, people to do. I’ll let myself out.”

 

Without acknowledging the dull, thudding panic in his chest, he glanced into the wastebasket. Fuck! Fuck. It was perfect.

 

Hunter grabbed the TV guide and stuffed it into his pocket. He was out the front door and running like hell a split second before heavy footsteps started to echo in from the bedroom.

 

*

 

Justin tapped the side of his glass absently.

 

“Fucking cut it out,” said Brian, and Justin jumped.

 

“Oh,” he said. “Sorry. I was just thinking.”

 

Brian took another gulp of his coffee and set the mug down, took a huge bite of his hold-the-everything turkey sandwich, and snagged a couple of fries from Justin’s plate with his other hand. Justin raised an eyebrow at that, but declined to comment. Brian must be hungry.

 

“About what?” Brian mumbled through his food.

 

Justin half-shrugged. “About Jason, I guess.”

 

Brian swallowed his mouthful and drank some more coffee. “Go on.”

 

“I – I don’t know.” Justin shrugged again. “I just... I was remembering...” He took a deep breath. “It’s that rush. That first time rush.”

 

Brian set his coffee down.

 

“When you first get fucked, and you’re all, like, I can do anything. I can have anyone. Jason had that feeling all the time.” Justin ate another fry before Brian could try to take it, but Brian just kept looking at him.

 

“So he was cocky,” Brian said.

 

“It wasn’t even that,” said Justin heatedly. “It’s that he just couldn’t get his head around it. He had no sense of all the fucked-up mess he could get himself into, no sense of anywhere else he could be. Jason listened to me about the condom thing, but... from what Hunter told me, it sounds like it just finally all hit him.” Justin sat back. “He couldn’t get off just by being cute and young. He was out of cash, he had nowhere to go... and he didn’t listen to warnings about the guy. He just went.” Justin sighed. “He just went along.”

 

Justin cocked his head to the side, and said heavily, “Sometimes I wish I’d _liked_ Jason more. Been more of a friend.”

 

“Hey,” said Brian. “You know that none of this...”

 

Justin nodded. “I know. It’s not my fault. I blame the fucking asshole that did it.”

 

“Good,” said Brian. “That’s right.”

 

*

 

Justin drank some more of his milkshake, but he wasn’t really into it. The shake turned thick in the back of his throat, and he swallowed it quickly and pushed his glass to the side.

 

His tuna sandwich had been eaten, and the remains nervously demolished. There was no excuse to stay, unless Brian actually wanted him there, but he had the sneaking suspicion that Brian only wanted him for his French fries.

 

“I should go,” Justin said, but Brian’s sudden, intense look kept him rooted to his seat.

 

“No,” said Brian, and he smirked. “Not yet. You’ve told me about Jason, now tell me about you. Your first time rush.”

 

Justin felt heat in his cheeks, and cursed himself for being so visible. “You get off on praise, do you?” he said.

 

Brian nodded, and said “But not about me. I was there, I know I was fantastic. What came next? Who’d you fuck after that?”

 

Justin couldn’t help but grin at the rush of memories, and bounced a little in the booth. He leaned forward.

 

“A few days later, I was at the art museum, with my mom, when this guy starts giving me the eye from across the room. I followed him –“

 

“Slow down,” said Brian. “Tell me everything.”

 

Justin sat back a little in shock. Fuck. Brian could not be –

 

He was. Justin took a good long look at Brian’s face. Outwardly calm, but there was some vague menace in his eyes. Justin had seen it before. It was that _so turned on I’ll do anything_ kind of vibe. It was pretty sexy. Brian shifted in his seat, and Justin glanced down, thwarted in his line of vision by the edge of the table. No way to tell.

 

Justin glanced around them. There were a few patrons at other tables, but none in immediate proximity. Okay. Whatever. Worth the risk of someone overhearing, and what the fuck could that hurt, anyway?

 

All that mattered was that Brian was _hot_ for him.

 

Justin leaned forward. 

 

“He was this art student. He looked like one of those blond surfer guys, you know? Except no one has skin that tanned in Pittsburgh, not naturally. He had really curly light brown hair. He was wearing this choker around his neck, and a tanktop that showed of his arms... they were really lean and muscular.”

 

Justin could feel himself starting to get hard. He put both hands on the diner table where Brian could see them, and started to slowly run his finger around the edge of his glass.

 

“I followed him into the bathroom, leaving my mother right there. Next thing I know, he’s all over me, he’s got me pinned into a stall.” Justin licked his lips. “I can feel his dick rubbing against my hip. I’m so hard I can’t see straight, but I have enough of my brain left to reach out and slam the stall door shut behind us. Just in case.” Justin breathed out and back in, and hoped nobody would come to clear their plates away anytime soon. 

 

“He pushes my pants down and takes my dick in his mouth, starts sucking hard, and my head just keeps banging back against the metal stall because it feels so fucking good..., my ears are ringing and my hands are everywhere cause I don’t have anyplace to put them. First I’m holding on to the sides of the stall, then I decide it makes more sense to hold onto all that curly hair that the guy has, and I guess he likes that because he starts moaning and riding my dick with his mouth.”

 

Justin pauses, because he swears he heard Brian make a noise at that, but Brian is silent.

 

“He starts swallowing around my dick, and I have to let go and come. Some of my spunk comes out of his mouth, it’s all over his chin,” Justin paused, breathless, and saw something in Brian’s eyes flicker. Brian took a deep breath and shifted in his seat again, and Justin got even harder. _Fuck._

 

“Then he fucked me,” Justin finished quickly, and Brian slapped some money down on the table and nearly leapt out of the booth.

 

“ _Now_ it’s time for us to go,” Brian said casually, and grabbed Justin’s arm, pulling him out of the diner right past a flummoxed Debbie who had been just about to come over and refill Brian’s mug.

 

Debbie shook her head, and winced as the diner’s glass door banged shut loudly after them.

 

He’d better do right by that kid, that’s all she had to say.

 

She turned to the next occupied table. “More coffee, hon?”


	5. Your Kingbird

“Elevator or stairs?” Brian asked. 

 

Justin looked at him. “Hmmm,” he said. 

 

He grabbed the back of Brian’s head and kissed him hard. Brian immediately took advantage where he could find it, winding his arms through Justin’s and pushing his tongue into Justin’s mouth. Their teeth clacked together and their noses brushed. Justin’s mouth tasted faintly of grease and condensed milk.

 

There was something urgent in it, something more needy than simple horniness, but Brian wouldn’t have been able to tell you that.

 

Justin levered one leg between Brian’s and thrust into Brian’s hip until he broke the kiss, gasping slightly.

 

“Fuck,” said Brian. His pulse was racing and he could feel that his cheeks were slightly flushed. Justin was even worse off.

 

Justin thrust against him again, then drew away. He grinned through the dim glow of his cheeks. “Yeah. I think... the stairs. Race you!”

 

And the next instant, he’d taken off up the dimly lit stairwell.

 

“Fuck!” Brian said, wondered briefly where his vocabulary had gone, and how old was he anyway, and there was no fucking way he was ever going to be that infantile, and then he tore off after Justin.

 

He muttered breathlessly to himself as he ran up the dusty stairwell, taking stairs two at a time, his jeans creating some uncomfortable friction against his hard-on. He ignored the discomfort stoically for the greater good, and the admirable goal of catching up to Justin and fucking him against the wall.

 

Brian’s feet thudded up the last few steps, and he rounded the corner to his loft door. Justin was already standing there, next to –

 

Fuck. Next to Hunter.

 

Well. Bright side, at least the kid obviously wasn’t murdered.

 

Yet.

 

Hunter smiled brightly, his lips curled over his teeth. “Oh, sorry,” he said, “Am I interrupting something?”

 

Justin let out a pained moan and slumped against the wall. “No,” he said to Hunter. “Nothing special. Of course not.”

 

Brian looked fondly at the wall Justin was slumped against, sighed inaudibly, and turned to Hunter. “What the hell are you doing here?” he said.

 

Hunter shrugged. “My good deed of the day.”

 

Brian raised an eyebrow and went over to the loft door. He punched in the code and slid the door open, gesturing for both Hunter and Justin to enter.

 

“Explain,” said Brian, although he already had a pretty good idea. Justin went over to the couch and flopped down on it.

 

Hunter let out a smug snort and pulled something out of his pocket. “I brought you this.”

 

“Jesus!” he heard from over in Justin’s direction. 

 

And - yeah. That about summed it up. However illogical the thought may have been, Brian had been expecting something a little more sanitary. He rummaged through the kitchen drawer and pulled out a Ziploc bag, gesturing for Hunter to put the limp condom in it.

 

“You fucked the cop?” he said. Well, fuck, he thought to himself, that’s kind of obvious. Ask the boy if he brought about world peace while he was at it, why don’t you.

 

Hunter grinned, and glanced at Brian’s crotch. “I told you I’d do anything.”

 

“You could have snagged a cigarette butt.” Brian grimaced. 

 

“He doesn’t smoke.” Hunter stood in front of him, slouching against the counter. There was something in his face that made Brian think of a small puppy waiting to be patted on the head. Brian glanced over at Justin, who was sitting up facing them, arms crossed on the back of the couch. 

 

Justin looked back at him, but Brian couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

 

“Oh,” said Hunter, “ _and_ I got this from his garbage.” He held out the TV Guide for Brian.

 

Brian grabbed it. The corner of his mouth twitched, and a satisfied smile spread across his face. “Kenneth Rikert,” he read. “ _Hello_ , Kenny.”

 

“Don’t I at least get a thank you?” Hunter said. “And what is _he_ doing here, anyway?” he said, gesturing at Justin. Brian and Justin ignored him.

 

“Fuck, Brian,” said Justin excitedly. “You’ve got him. You’ve fucking nailed him, Brian –“

 

Brian stepped over to him and silenced him with a quick peck. “Nearly. I’ll go see Horvath tomorrow, see what he can do with this. Meanwhile,” he paused and looked at Hunter, who was tapping his foot impatiently, “I should take Hunter back to his aunties. Do you want to come along?”

 

Justin started to speak, but Brian interrupted him. “Or... do you want to stay here and wait for me?”

 

Justin blinked up at him. “You aren’t afraid I’ll disappear and take your TV with me?”

 

Brian shook his head, smiling despite himself. “If you do, you won’t get far.”

 

“Why is that?” asked Justin, starting to smile back. 

 

“Because I haven’t fucked you yet,” said Brian, “and you’re not going to leave here until I have, right?”

 

“Maybe,” Justin shrugged and lay back on the couch, trying out his old nonchalant attitude, but Brian was onto him. 

 

Brian kissed him again and drew away. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard,” he whispered, and pushed Hunter out the door in front of him. 

 

*

 

“I can take care of that for you,” Hunter said, leering noticeably at Brian’s crotch. “And really, I suck cock better than he does, anyway.”

 

Brian sighed.

 

“And I should know,” said Hunter, “Because we compared –“

 

Brian reached out and slapped the car radio on. He punched to a random station and twisted the volume to full blast. 

 

_“WHAT WILL PEOPLE DO, WHEN THEY FIND OUT I’M A JESUS FREAK? WHAT WILL PEOPLE DO –“_

 

“Fuck!” Hunter shouted over the din. “What is this shit?”

 

It turned out Brian had, entirely by chance, found the Twenty-Four Hour Greatest Hits of Christian Alt-Rock channel. There were no commercial breaks.

 

By the time they got to Ben and Michael’s block, the station had played two more songs and then switched to an inspirational talk show, featuring call-ins from old women about their sex lives and how they related to Our Lord Jesus Christ, their personal savior, and God Almighty.

 

Apparently God wanted the grey-haired grannies to do it doggy-style, if it doth please their husbands. Brian finally reached over and turned the volume down, the radio having served its purpose.

 

Hunter looked dazed. “Fuck,” he said blankly, and Brian was inclined to agree. But at least his erection was gone.

 

*

 

After the screaming match that resulted when Brian took Hunter back to Michael and Ben’s apartment and had to explain what the kid had been up to, Michael took Brian out into the hallway.

 

“I just wanted to... thank you,” said Michael.

 

Brian snorted. “What did I do, Mikey?”

 

“You brought him home,” said Michael, “and that means something.”

 

“I brought him home and he stormed right back out again, you may have noticed.” Brian shifted to one foot and looked at some crack on the wall above Michael.

 

Michael shook his head, smiling slightly. “Asshole. It means something, and you know it. And besides, I think he’ll be coming back. Don’t ask me how I know, it’s just a feeling.”

 

“Yeah, well,” said Brian, “Everyone’s looking for a place to go. It’s one of the building blocks of human society, right next to getting your dick sucked.”

 

“Do you want to come back in?” said Michael. “Ben and I can put some coffee on. We could spike yours if you wanted.”

 

“Nah,” said Brian, and he turned to go. “You and the professor have a good night. I’ve got other plans.”

 

Michael laughed. “What is this, ‘speaking of getting my dick sucked, I have to go to Babylon’? It’s a little bit late, isn’t it?”

 

Brian kept walking, but glanced back before he started down the narrow stairs. He didn’t say anything, just sorta smiled, then he took the first step and was gone from Michael’s view.

 

Michael blinked for a minute, trying to figure out what exactly he’d seen. There was a different intensity to Brian tonight, a different focus, like his mind wasn’t exactly where the rest of him was. Michael had no idea where it had come from, or what had caused it, and it made him feel a little bit off center.

 

He hoped Hunter would be back soon.

 

“Hey,” said Ben from behind him. “Everything all right out here?”

 

Michael turned, and Ben wrapped his arms around him tightly.

 

“Yeah,” said Michael. “Everything’s okay.” 

 

He was loved here.

 

*

 

When Brian got back to the loft, Justin was still dressed.

 

“What the fuck are you doing with your clothes on?” Brian growled. 

 

Justin shrugged easily. “I didn’t want to presume _too_ much. Also...” he trailed off as Brian started shedding clothes. Jacket, gone. Shoes, gone. T-shirt, gone.

 

“What?” said Brian as he unbuttoned his jeans with a tug and slid them off.

 

“Um,” said Justin, “Also... I thought you might want to undress me yourself.”

 

Brian had already gotten Justin’s shirt halfway off his body by the time he finished speaking, but paused. Was he imagining it, or did Justin sound formal?

 

“What do you mean?” said Brian.

 

Justin gave him a confused look. “That I want you to take my clothes off?”

 

“Right,” said Brian, “Right.” He finished pulling off Justin’s shirt, then grabbed him by a belt loop and tugged him over to the bed.

 

Justin laughed delightedly. “So, I guess you missed me?”

 

Brian kissed him deeply. “Yeah,” he breathed, “You little fuck... I was turned-on all the way to Mikey’s. Hunter was insufferable about it.”

 

Brian was so close to Justin that he could feel Justin smile against his shoulder. He grabbed Justin by the hips, holding him loosely, and threw himself backward onto the bed. Justin lost his balance and fell on top of him, his arms splayed to catch his weight.

 

“Oh, now this is interesting,” Justin said, but Brian gave him a half-hearted glare from the arc of Justin’s arms, and rolled them over.

 

“ _This_ is more like it,” Brian said. Justin grunted. He felt Brian’s cock hard against the outside of his jeans, which was very nice and everything, but Justin wanted skin. 

 

“Fuck,” said Justin, “Fuck, get these off me.”

 

“Bossy, aren’t you?” Brian sat up, straddling Justin and enjoying the roughness of the denim against his balls. He ground down against Justin and Justin made a choked noise.

 

Damn, Brian thought, looking over the body underneath him. Getting a good look, this time.

 

Justin was pretty and pale, a bit slight, but more toned than Brian had expected. He could count a few too many ribs, but not enough to alarm him, or even dim his attraction. Brian reached out and thumbed a pink nipple, just so Justin would squirm. 

 

He tried to match this Justin’s body with the Justin he’d had before, but his mind wasn’t having any of it. He kept getting distracted by the spare lines of Justin’s form. Hot, young and hot and yearning for touch. He’d look more later. 

 

“Please? Please, Brian,” said Justin. Brian wasn’t in the mood for being begged, so he unzipped Justin’s jeans and stuck his hand down them.

 

Justin threw his head back. “Oh, god.”

 

“Thought you were being smart, earlier?” said Brian. “Thought you could get me all hot and bothered in the middle of the diner?” 

 

Justin tried to thrust against Brian’s hand, but he moved it away. “I didn’t think,” Justin panted, “I didn’t _think_ I could, I _did_ get you hot. I saw. You were hard.”

 

Brian grabbed Justin’s cock and gave it a couple of strokes. “And did you get hard? Through that little story of yours, did you imagine it was me fucking you? Sucking you off?”

 

“Yes,” said Justin, “ _Fuck_ yes.” He squirmed.

 

Brian let go of Justin’s cock, grabbed his jeans by the legs and tugged them off. A pair of underwear soon followed. Justin’s cock sprang free, dark and hard against the rest of his skin.

 

Brian leaned down and swallowed the head of Justin’s dick, working his tongue against the underside. He could feel tremors shaking through Justin’s hips, and Justin started making a low gaspy sound. He felt hands in his hair, clenching roughly, and Justin’s legs wrapped carefully around his shoulders, squeezing his face down closer to his ‘work’.

 

“F-fuck,” moaned Justin, and Brian took that as encouragement.

 

Brian forced his mouth down Justin’s shaft, keeping his lips tight and firm against the length, and drew back up again, sucking slightly at the tip. He glanced up when the hands disappeared from his scalp. Justin was arched against the bedsheets, completely silent, his whole body strained like a bow. Brian had to press down against the mattress at that, he was so hard it was starting to ache. He rocked his cock against the smooth fabric, scarily close to the edge of orgasm.

 

Brian let Justin thrust into his mouth, taking him deeper in, and then he swallowed rapidly. Justin let out a sharp gasp, trembled wildly and came with a jerk, filling Brian’s mouth with semen.

 

Brian swallowed some of it and let the rest dribble out of his mouth, feeling Justin’s ankles slip from his back and his legs splay across the bed. Brian wiped his face with a bit of sheet, and grabbed Justin by the ankles, pulling him down to face-level.

 

“Nnngh,” said Justin insightfully, and Brian kissed him.

 

“Oh,” said Justin breathlessly when Brian drew back. “God, that was good.”

 

Brian bit at his ear. “I’m not done yet,” he whispered. “Roll over.” If he had to wait another minute to put his dick in something, he might spontaneously combust.

 

Justin limply flopped over onto his front, and Brian tugged him into a better position. Justin seemed completely wiped out. “You up for this?” Brian said. 

 

Justin glanced over his shoulder. “Not technically _up_ , but start fucking my brains out and I’m sure that’ll be fixed soon enough.”

 

Brian spared him a quick smile and a bit of lube, then rolled on a condom, barely getting the latex to the base of his cock before he entered Justin in one sharp thrust.

 

Justin jerked, still sensitive from his recent orgasm. “Oh _fuck_. Brian.”

 

“Shh,” said Brian. His vision swam slightly. “Ready?”

 

Justin didn’t say anything, just pushed back against him, stretching his spine out and down. Brian inhaled at the sensation, his cock sinking in even further, surrounded by tight slightly moist heat.

 

“Yes,” said Justin. “Do it.”

 

Brian took a moment, willing his orgasm to back off, and angled himself for better penetration by rearranging Justin’s ass on his cock. 

 

Justin started laughing. “I can move my _own_ ass, thanks.”

 

Brian doubled over and pressed his forehead against Justin’s back, idly realizing both of them were damp with sweat. “If you don’t stop giggling, this is all going to be over pretty soon.”

 

Justin stilled immediately and went quiet for a moment, but then said, “I could make sooo many age cracks at that... but maybe not while you’ve got your dick up my ass.” Brian couldn’t see Justin’s face, but he sounded like he was grinning.

 

“Smart boy,” said Brian. “Mmm,” he thrust again, “You’re tight.”

 

“And you’re –“ Justin paused, like he didn’t know if he should say it. “You’re still the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen,” he said finally, all at once, and Brian felt a jolt of heat at the words. He thrust harder this time, and Justin yelped. “Oh! Oh oh oh fuck, do that again.”

 

Brian did, and Justin started mouthing a nearby pillow, making strained, hot little noises. 

 

“Don’t bite my fucking sheets,” said Brian, “Let me hear you.” He eased off and kept a steady, light rhythm, sometimes thrusting harder or deeper to catch Justin off guard.

 

Justin let go of the pillow, the corner now damp with saliva. He turned his head to the side and Brian could see his profile. Justin’s lips were ragged and pink, a bit of moisture on his forehead and over his lip. “What do you want me to say?” he said, breathing heavily.

 

Brian ran one sticky hand along Justin’s side, skimming down flesh to where his cock stood. He was hard again, his dick curved up against his stomach. Brian grabbed him and started jerking him off, not bothering to coordinate with his thrusts.

 

Justin moaned loudly and dropped his head back to the pillow. “Brian,” he gasped, “Brian, I want you to come. I want – I want you to finish me off and pound me against the bedframe. Do you hear me? _Come_. Come for me. Come -”

 

Justin’s voice broke and he reached back and slapped lightly at Brian’s thigh. Brian bit back a noise, and thrust harder. He waited, held off long as he could - Fuck, no blond little _kid_ was going to tell him when to come -

 

But he did, a few seconds later, an abrupt surge of ecstasy. He twisted his body against Justin’s, convulsing slightly with muscle release. His mouth opened, but no sound came out, his moans still caught in the back of his throat.

 

Brian’s mind blitzed for a moment, and when he came back to himself, Justin was shaking and crying out in pleasure underneath him.

 

*

 

Brian poked at Justin’s sleeping form. He waited a few seconds, and poked at him again.

 

Justin didn’t move an inch, not acknowledging the poking. “Fucking stop that,” he mumbled, “I’m not sleeping on the fucking couch.”

 

Brian opened his mouth – 

 

“And if _you_ expect me to move, then _I_ might as well expect payment,” Justin said softly. “Is that what this was about?” _Ooh, what a guilt trip. Bad Justin,_ he thought.

 

Brian closed his mouth. Justin burrowed further into the blanket, then sighed and turned over, snuggling up to Brian’s side. Brian stiffened.

 

Justin couldn’t help but laugh. Brian seemed to be allergic to the possibility of anyone staying in his bed overnight without any other purpose. But fuck that. Justin had slept on the couch the previous night, but he’d like to think circumstances had changed since then.

 

“It’s not funny,” Brian said, on the verge of a snit. “You think I like polluting my bed with random miscreants?” Brian wasn’t making any sense, and he knew it, and he was mentally cursing himself. Justin could tell by the pinched look between his eyes.

 

Justin shrugged and stuck his cold feet against Brian’s shin. Brian glared.

 

“Would it make you feel better if we spent the whole night fucking, instead of actually _sleeping_ in bed together?” Justin asked. “Cause I’d be fine with that.”

 

Brian looked at him for a long time.

 

“No,” he said finally. “We’ve already fucked, what, three times? It’s almost morning.”

 

“Mm-hmm,” Justin said.

 

“So it can wait,” said Brian. “The fucking can wait. Until morning. And you need your rest, so... So go to sleep.” He paused.

 

“Okay,” said Justin, “Stop poking me, then.” And he closed his eyes.

 

*

 

A few minutes later, Justin was asleep, but Brian just stared at him wide-eyed.

 

This was new. Or... at least, he hadn’t done this in a very long time, a few years. Sleeping next to someone. He’d forgotten what he was supposed to do.

 

Brian lay there stiffly, arms at his sides, Justin curled against his ribs. He squeezed his eyes shut and wondered how he was ever going to get to sleep like this, with his brain actively aware of where every body part and area of skin was, and exactly how far apart they were from the other person in his bed. 

 

He didn’t think he _would_ get to sleep, but apparently he managed somehow, because when he and Justin woke up, Brian found that during their sleep they had gotten all tangled together. 

 

Sweaty and stinky and mildly sore, limbs on limbs. Justin’s mouth pressed against the skin above Brian’s navel, warming him with breath.


	6. Your Kingbird

Justin blinked at him. “Hey,” he said faintly. “Good morning.”

 

“Yeah,” said Brian. “Hey.”

 

Brian yawned and stretched out of Justin’s embrace. Justin disentangled his feet from Brian’s and rolled away, throwing his arms out to the side.

 

“Mmm,” said Justin. “That was nice.”

 

Brian looked at him. “Nice?” he said.

 

Justin grinned and sat up. “I gotta go pee,” he said, and got out of bed stiffly. He limped over to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

 

Go _pee?_

 

Brian considered moving, but decided it would be counterproductive to his goals. He kicked all the sheets off and waited.

 

Justin came out a couple minutes later and glanced over at him. “I used your toothbrush,” he said, but stopped abruptly.

 

Brian raised his eyebrows. He stretched his body out again, raising his arms above his head and letting his legs fall apart. He tilted his pelvis and rolled onto one hip, viscerally aware that Justin could see him getting hard.

 

Justin stood there, dead still, taking it all in. Maybe he needed some more encouragement. Brian pinched his own nipple and then slowly ran his hand down his stomach, further, further, and further down...

 

“Hold that thought,” said Justin, and pounced.

 

“Ah fuck,” Brian gasped. All laziness and leisure gone, the feel of Justin’s body against his sent a sudden jolt of arousal through him, and he grit his teeth against the wave. 

 

Justin grabbed Brian by the hips and swallowed his dick, pumping his face up and down the shaft. Brian’s knees jerked. He hadn’t expected to be so close to coming, so soon. It was too intense.

 

“Hold on, shit, hold on,” he said, and tried to get Justin to ease off. Justin didn’t stop his pace, but he slowed down. He wrapped one hand around the base of Brian’s cock and kept a light pressure, working on the head of Brian’s dick with his hot, wet mouth. 

 

Brian squeezed his eyes shut, centering himself on the feel of the bed beneath his body. He felt Justin’s mouth vividly, but he knew if he watched what was going on he’d lose track of which way was up.

 

Justin disengaged his mouth long enough to take a few panting breaths. “Brian,” he said hoarsely, “You’re so fucking hot like this. Can you look at me?”

 

Brian shook his head. “No,” he said. “I want it like this. Finish me off.”

 

“But I want you to look at me. Mmm...”

 

Brian’s shoulders stiffened and arched as Justin went back to sucking him off. “No,” he shuddered. His eyes flew open and he looked down at Justin, watched his dick thrusting in and out of that fuckable mouth. “No,” he said again, and the world tipped.

 

Justin flattened his tongue against Brian’s shaft and dragged it all the way up to the tip, and gave one last hard suck.

 

Brian threw his head back, his neck bared. A shudder ran all the way up from his toes, and he came with a grunt, right into Justin’s mouth.

 

“Ah – ah fuck –“ He crumpled back against the stained sheets, feeling like he could melt away into them and not give a damn. Justin licked up some residue from Brian’s half-flaccid cock, then drew back and kissed Brian on the stomach. 

 

“Yeah,” muttered Justin, and kissed Brian again softly, once on the chest, once on the base of his neck. Finally, he kissed Brian on the mouth, and Brian brought his hands up to cradle Justin’s head. 

 

Brian eased his tongue into Justin’s mouth, lapping slightly at his upper lip and pressing in, tasting the familiar bitterness. Justin made a small noise and opened his mouth wider, letting Brian in. 

 

It was slow, aching, and they kissed like that until Brian got hard again, until he got jittery and desperate, with Justin whimpering and rutting against his thigh.

 

*

 

While Justin showered, Brian quietly left the loft and drove to the convenience store a few blocks away.

 

He wandered the aisles for a couple of minutes, grabbed some random breakfast-like items – (corn flakes, skim milk, two shriveled looking egg salad sandwiches, some shitty beer, sugar cubes, a nutritional supplement granola bar) – and paid for them. 

 

Brian got back while Justin, freshly bathed and wearing his jeans, was brushing his teeth for the second time that morning. 

 

Justin came out of the bathroom and smiled. “Hey,” he said. “You went somewhere?”

 

Brian held up his plastic sack and shrugged. “I found breakfast. The endeavor was hellish. I’d rather not speak of it.”

 

“Hmm,” said Justin as he peeked in the bag, “Egg salad... You know, you’re actually kind of weird, aren’t you?”

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brian said, utterly deadpan. Justin chuckled and took the bag from his hands.

 

Brian smirked, snagged the granola bar from Justin and went over to his computer. He heard Justin rustling through the bag behind him. After checking his email, he looked up a number. 

 

Brian picked up the phone and dialed.

 

“Hello, I’d like to speak to Detective Horvath.”

 

He drummed his fingers on the desk and watched Justin scarf down the sandwiches and go rooting around for a cereal bowl.

 

“Top left cabinet,” Brian said, “Ah, _Carl_ , how good to hear your voice. It’s Brian Kinney.”

 

Justin went to the top left cabinet and pulled out a bowl.

 

“Yeah? Well I have something you might find interesting, Detective. Expect me in your office in an hour.”

 

Justin paused and looked over at him.

 

“Wait,” said Brian, “Just out of curiosity, does the name Kenneth Rikert strike any bells?”

 

Brian paused, and Justin watched his face closely.

 

“He was?” said Brian finally. He listened for a moment. “Did he know Stockwell?” 

 

Brian turned away so Justin couldn’t see his expression. “No, I’ll explain everything when I get there.”

 

He hung up the phone.

 

“So the shithead _is_ a cop?” asked Justin. 

 

“Yeah,” said Brian. “He was Stockwell’s partner for fifteen years. Retired a year ago.”

 

“No shit,” said Justin. “That’s pretty fucked up.”

 

Brian took a bite of his granola bar and stared into space, agreeing wordlessly. 

 

Justin poured the cereal. “Is this it? You have what you need?”

 

“I won’t know until I take the DNA to dear Detective Horvath,” Brian said. 

 

“But basically,” Justin added milk and got to the point, “You won’t need my help anymore.”

 

He looked up at Brian and smiled carefully. “Right?”

 

Brian set down his granola bar and considered him for a minute. He knew what Justin was asking, and he wasn’t sure how to answer. 

 

The bottom line. This was it. This was the end. 

 

It’d been a nice couple of days, Justin had probably appreciated the warm bed and food, Brian had appreciated the assistance and the company, but Justin was a stray, that’s all. 

 

A smart kid, admittedly, cute, a good fuck, and he gave terrific head. But he didn’t belong there, and there was no longer any reason for him to be around. 

 

Yeah. The bottom line. But there was another line that Brian was acutely aware of. A line that was about stuff like good fucks, and faded prom pictures, and Brian frankly just liking this kid... and maybe feeling a little bit responsible – just a little.

 

It was a line that Brian hadn’t been aware of before. 

 

“Are you – I’m,” Brian stopped, annoyed at his inability to get a full sentence out. He steeled himself and walked over to Justin, smoothing his hands down Justin’s bare arms. “Unless I have other plans, you can stay here again tonight,” he said, “You might as well. The forecast says it’s supposed to get pretty cold.” 

 

Justin gave him a weird look, like he wasn’t sure how to react. “Okay. This isn’t one of those pity things, right?” he said.

 

“No,” said Brian, “I don’t do pity. I’m being completely selfish.” He ran a hand down Justin’s back, cupped his ass pointedly, and squeezed. Justin laughed and wriggled against him.

 

“Besides,” Brian added, “It’s just for tonight.”

 

Justin smiled. The little fucker was awfully sure of himself, considering he had been street trash for a year. 

 

_Just for tonight, damnit._ Brian had to make sure of that. Otherwise, he could see the situation getting entirely out of hand.

 

“One night? I can deal with that,” Justin said, and kissed him until he was hard again.

 

The cereal got soggy, though.

 

*

 

Brian pulled over. “I’m going to let you out here,” he said, “So you’re within walking distance of Liberty. Or wherever else you need to go.”

 

He’d given Justin another T-shirt and an old heavy linen shirt to wear under his jacket, but Justin still looked like he’d freeze to death if the wind blew the wrong way.

 

“Okay,” said Justin. “Thanks. I might say hi to Debbie or something, who knows.”

 

Brian smirked at that. “Yeah, you should,” he added seriously. “And don’t let her hassle you, she just thinks she knows what’s best for everyone.” He turned and kissed Justin on the cheek. “You don’t have to take any shit from her.”

 

Justin laughed. “Thanks for the tip. Umm... so, tonight?”

 

Brian nodded. 

 

“Around midnight, maybe?” Justin said. “Or later?”

 

“Later might be best,” said Brian, “But before three.”

 

“Cool,” said Justin. He smiled. “See ya then.”

 

Then he leapt from the car and slammed the door behind him with a loud bang that made Brian flinch. 

 

“Hey!” yelled Brian, “Watch it!”

 

Justin turned around and walked backwards away from the Corvette, shrugging and laughing. Brian shook his head, and hit the accelerator, peeling away from the curb with a screech.

 

He kept one eye on the rearview mirror until Justin disappeared from sight.

 

*

 

Justin waited until later that afternoon before he walked to Liberty Avenue. Yeah, he walked down Liberty in broad daylight. He hadn’t done that in a while.

 

Of course, there was a reason he hadn’t. 

 

A couple of cops watched him pretty closely, but he didn’t make eye contact, with them or anyone else. He knew that if it appeared even remotely like he was hooking a trick, they’d nail him. And not in a good way.

 

Finally, he fell into the figuratively waiting arms of the Liberty Diner, pushing open the door and letting out a breath. 

 

He guessed taking Brian’s oh so subtle advice had been a good idea. Justin felt pretty decent about getting out of the warehouse district. It made him feel like a normal person for a change. 

 

Or at least, a normal person with a hefty dose of paranoia, and fifty more bucks of bad memories fresh in his pocket.

 

“Hey, Sunshine,” called Debbie, “If you’re looking for Brian, he just left.”

 

Justin wrinkled his nose. “ _Sunshine?_ ” he said incredulously, and Debbie gave him a _You’d better shut up and deal with it_ glare. 

 

“Hey,” said Justin, “That’s fine, whatever.” He paused. “Actually, I wasn’t looking for him,” he said, “But when was Brian here?”

 

Debbie sighed heavily, and for the first time Justin noticed that she didn’t seem nearly as boisterous as she had the previous night. He wondered about it for a second, then figured it wasn’t his problem.

 

“Yes,” she said, “Brian was here about half an hour ago, but he didn’t stay long. What do you want to eat, sweetie? It’s on the house.”

 

Justin swallowed. “I have money –“ he started, but Debbie was already shaking her head.

 

“I know,” she said, “I know you do, hon, but I’m telling you that you shouldn’t have to worry about that here.” Her tone suddenly changed, “And if you do, I’ll tie your dick in knots for being an ungrateful twerp. Is that clear?”

 

Justin opened his mouth to speak a couple of times, but in the end he just nodded. It seemed easiest to go along with it.

 

“Now,” said Debbie, “I think a growing boy like you needs the hamburger platter.”

 

*

 

Debbie took Justin’s emptied plate away. “Hungry, weren’t you?” she said.

 

“Yeah,” Justin shrugged. “I guess.” 

 

“Here,” she said, “I got you a few lemon bars to take with you.”

 

She shoved a small Styrofoam box in a brown paper sack and handed it to him. Then she just stood there, waiting.

 

Justin gave her a confused look. “Uh, thanks,” he said, thinking she was expecting acknowledgement. 

 

Debbie ignored him. “He’s going to break your heart,” she said.

 

Justin looked down at the paper sack and folded the top of it over. “Who?” he said. 

 

_Who._ The little shit knew perfectly well who she was talking about.

 

“You know who,” Debbie said, “And I know you don’t want to hear this.” She crossed her arms and rested them on the edge of the counter. “But the thing you need to know about Brian Kinney is that he’s an asshole. Always has been, always will be. But he has his reasons, and you don’t want to get mixed up in that. You don’t want to fall in love with that man. I’m warning you.”

 

Justin looked down, his cheeks turning red.

 

“I don’t think it’s any of your business,” said Justin, and stood up. “But if you give a shit, you might as well know that it doesn’t mean anything. He’s a good fuck, okay? I’ve known him, like, two days.”

 

But there was an extra note of something in his voice that Debbie heard immediately. Right. Say it all you want, and maybe you’ll believe it, but it’s not just a fuck to _you_ , Sunshine.

 

“You’re a good boy, Justin,” said Debbie, “But I’ve gotta tell you the truth. You deserve that, don’t you think? You’ve completely fucked up your life. Your mother loves you – your parents love you. They’re family. You should be with them, you should have normal friends your own age, and you sure as hell should have a roof over your head.”

 

“You don’t know me.” The flush started to travel toward his neck. “Just -” 

 

“I do know you, kiddo.” Debbie reached out and patted him on the cheek. “I know everything about you, just from seeing your face, and don’t let anyone tell you different. Are you going to call your mother?”

 

Justin looked at her, mouth pressed in a line. “No,” he said. “I’m sorry, but _again_ , it’s none of your _fucking business_ , so _fuck off!_ ”

 

Debbie pursed her lips. “Right. None of my business? Shit, you’ve got a mouth on you.”

 

Justin sighed and grabbed the paper bag, preparing to leave. “Thank you for lunch,” he said in a measured tone. “You really didn’t have to.”

 

Debbie nodded slowly. “Justin?” she said. “If you need anything, ever, anything at all, just ask.” She paused. “Also, maybe I pushed too hard just then, but just keep in mind... that’s the one time in your _entire fucking life_ that you will be forgiven for talking back to me.” 

 

Justin walked over to the door. When he got there, he turned around and nodded at her, before pulling the door open and going out it.

 

Well, shit.

 

*

 

“That,” said the trick, “Was fucking amazing.”

 

Brian grunted at him and yanked his jeans over his knees. “Right,” he said, “Amazing.”

 

The trick looked at him with glazed-over eyes, brain working slowly. “Are you going?” he said finally.

 

Brian tugged his shirt on and grabbed his coat. “Yeah,” he said. 

 

“Oh,” said the trick, “You can stay if you want.” At the trick’s place. Not a bad place, really, except for the fact that Brian would never stay, ever, not in a million years, didn’t everyone know that by now? 

 

Brian glanced over his shoulder. The trick was big – in many ways – and had dark hair. Brian was already beginning to forget his face, even with the face in question right in front of him. 

 

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” said Brian.

 

The trick tried for a seductive tone. “But it’d be warmer with two of us... and you know it’s gonna be cold tonight.”

 

Brian blinked, and swore softly. 

 

Before the trick knew it, Brian was gone and the door shut tightly, and the only sign he had ever been there was the lingering ache in the trick’s ass.

 

*

 

Justin sat at the bottom of the stairs, waiting for Brian to come home. 

 

At 2:42, Brian came through the door, fumbling his keys out of his pocket. He glanced around but he didn’t notice Justin at first. Then Brian glimpsed him out of the corner of his eye, and his head came up sharply.

 

“Hi,” said Justin. “Had a busy night?”

 

Brian stared at him.

 

Justin shifted. “Brian?”

 

Brian blinked. “Yeah,” he said, “Busy night. Have you been waiting long?”

 

“Nah,” said Justin, although he had been. “Not long. You coming?”

 

Brian smiled slightly. “It’s my loft. Of course I’m – coming.”

 

Justin grinned and stood up, offering Brian his arm in a courtly fashion. Brian snorted and ignored it, starting up the stairs past Justin. Justin followed, and Brian stopped in front of his door to unlock it.

 

“Where’ve you been?” said Justin.

 

“What are you, my fucking wife?” said Brian. “I’ve been out.”

 

Justin stiffened. “Right,” he said, “I was just making conversation. Sorry.”

 

Brian slid the door open and sighed. “If you must know, I was at Babylon.” He glanced at Justin. “But the back room is still closed, so I found alternative methods of getting my dick sucked.”

 

Justin nodded, feeling slightly jealous, even though he told himself he had no right to be. Brian fucked everyone once, and he’d fucked Justin several times by now, so he should look on the bright side.

 

Yeah, like that’s going to work, Justin thought.

 

Brian stepped into the loft and paused. “C’mon, get in here,” he said, and tugged Justin forward by the collar of his jacket.

 

“You’re drunk.” Justin followed him. “Aren’t you?”

 

“You’re not my fucking _mommy_ either,” said Brian.

 

Justin figured he should back off for the sake of his health, and do so quickly. This was not going well. “Can I have some beer, then?” he asked lightly. 

 

“No. You’re way too young and impressionable.” Brian went over to the fridge and tossed him one of the shitty beers left over from breakfast. Justin smiled his thanks.

 

He watched Brian bump into the kitchen counter and start rooting through a drawer in deep concentration. “So was the DNA a match?” said Justin. “Do they know yet?”

 

Brian sniffed and pulled out an oven mitt. “It was a match. But it’s not enough to reopen the investigation.”

 

Justin gaped angrily. “What? That’s bullshit! If it was the cop’s, then –“ He walked over to Brian and said, “What are you going to do?”

 

Brian took a few steps back from Justin, still holding the oven mitt. “I’m not doing anything. I got it this far. I gave Horvath the jizz. It’s up to him what he does with it.” He set the oven mitt down on the counter.

 

“Brian, he’s a murderer, you can’t just –“ He trailed off and fell silent. 

 

Justin kept thinking - _Jason. A bruised neck. The curve of Rikert’s back as he hunched at the bar, both pathetic and terrifying._

 

That was Justin’s deal, not Brian’s. He should have remembered that.

 

“But,” he said finally, giving it another try, “Isn’t this your big revenge scheme? Getting back at Stockwell for firing you?” 

 

Because if Brian didn’t stop him, who would? Maybe Brian couldn’t do everything. Maybe he was just a guy. But somehow, Justin thought that Brian could do _this_. He could uncover Rikert and make things better again.

 

Brian turned around and flung his arms out to the side. “Does it look like I’m a man bent on revenge?” he said. “I’m just looking for an honest fuck.”

 

The answer was no, apparently.

 

He met Justin’s eyes evenly, and neither said anything for a moment. 

 

“Well,” said Justin, “I’ve always considered myself honest.”

 

Brian smirked. “Gimme that,” he said, grabbed Justin’s beer and took a swig. Then he reached out again and ran a hand over Justin’s buzzed head, resting his fingers at the base of his skull. He looked at Justin’s mouth and cocked his head to the side. He hummed something quiet and tuneless.

 

Justin just stood there for a second, then stepped into him, letting Brian’s arms come down to rest on his shoulders.

 

“I’m honest,” he said again, but he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince.


	7. Your Kingbird

Brian woke up. 

 

Justin was still asleep. He’d kicked the sheets down until they were wrapped around his ankles, leaving the rest of his body exposed. One arm was wedged between his shoulder and the pillow. 

 

Brian watched him for a moment. Justin looked young. Christ, he was just a teenager, after all. But seeing him this way, without the poise, the cockiness that Justin carried with him, Brian felt old and perverted. Like he was using Justin to, fuck, he didn’t know, recapture his lost youth or something.

 

Startled by his realization, Brian flopped back down on the bed, letting out a sigh. What the fuck? Justin didn’t need that. 

 

Justin needed something else.

 

So Brian showered and dressed without waking him. He shaved slowly, and once he was done he stared into the mirror for a few minutes.

 

He left the bathroom and padded over to the bed, shoes in one hand. “Hey,” he said, “Hey, wake up.”

 

Justin grumbled and buried his head under the covers, but Brian yanked them away. “Wake up, you gotta go,” said Brian.

 

“What?” Justin grunted and sat up blearily. “Why, what’s going on?”

 

Brian curled his lips. “Nothing’s going on,” he said. “It’s time for you to leave.”

 

Justin blinked at him. “What?” Obviously the kid’s brain didn’t work very well when woken out of a sound sleep. 

 

Brian backed away from the bed, and gestured at the loft door with his shoes. “I said,” said Brian, “That your time is up. The night’s over and you’re done here. Get out.”

 

Justin’s eyes widened as the words registered, and he turned his face away. After a few seconds, he climbed out of bed and grabbed his pants from the floor. “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.”

 

Brian clenched his fingers around his pair of shoes so tightly he heard his knuckles pop. “Glad to know we understand each other,” he said. Justin put on his shirt. “You can take a shower first, before you leave,” Brian said, trying to be a little less of an asshole in Justin’s eyes, then cursing himself for caring about what Justin thought of him. 

 

“I’ve smelled worse,” Justin bit out, so Brian went over to the kitchen counter and opened and closed some cabinets at random. He couldn’t concentrate on actually doing anything. All his attention was focused on the faint rustling noises behind him.

 

A minute or two later, Justin came out of the partitioned bedroom and pulled on his sneakers and beat-up leather jacket. Brian took a step toward him, said “I’ll give you a ride,” and he _wasn’t_ just trying to be nice, now. Justin glared at him wordlessly, eyes shining with hurt.

 

“Y’know what?” said Justin. “Fuck you. _Fuck you._ ” He shook his head and laughed painfully. “I should have listened to Debbie.”

 

Brian stepped back. “Oh?” he said casually. “And what did Debbie say?”

 

Justin opened the loft door and went out of it. He stopped, said, “Nothing. Fuck her. Nice _knowing_ you,” and slid the door shut with a violent slam. 

 

Brian let out a breath and closed his eyes, one of the cabinets still hanging open.

 

*

 

Debbie was heating up frozen sausages in a skillet when she heard the front door open.

 

“Who is it?” she yelled.

 

There was no response, but a moment later Brian came in and leaned against the doorframe. The very picture of studied casualness.

 

“Hey, kiddo,” Debbie said with a smile. “Why the visit?”

 

“So what’d you tell him?” Brian said.

 

Debbie raised an eyebrow. “Be more fucking specific, hon.”

 

Brian pushed off the doorframe with his shoulder and strode over to her. He sat on the counter and poked at one of the sausages with a finger. Debbie batted his hand away.

 

“Get your grubby hands off of those. What did I tell who?” she said.

 

“The kid,” said Brian. “Justin. What should he have listened to you about?”

 

Debbie’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Sunshine? Tell me you didn’t,” she said.

 

“Didn’t what?”

 

“You threw Justin out, didn’t you? What, did you get scared? Did you actually _feel_ something for the first fucking time in your life?” Debbie slammed her spatula down on the counter. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

 

Brian nodded absently to himself, turned to Debbie and said “What _the fuck_ are you talking about?”

 

“You took him home, Brian. And you did again last night, didn’t you? Isn’t that once too many for your usual?”

 

Brian snorted. “More like twice.”

 

Debbie grabbed her spatula and waved it at his nose. The sausages started to burn. “You liked the boy, I could tell. Actually _liked_ him. Why do you have to fuck these things up?” she said. Exasperated, she shook the sausages onto a plate, blackened side up.

 

“I think you’re forgetting one thing, Deb. He’s a hustler. Also, it was just fucking.” Brian shrugged. “He can hold his own, anyway.”

 

“No,” said Debbie, “He’s not a hustler. He can’t _hold his own._ He’s a scared little boy that ran out of options. And he’s in love with you, so the least you could do is be a decent human being, for _once_ in your life.”

 

She looked at him, something like pity in her eyes. “Now get the fuck out of my house,” she said.

 

*

 

Brian walked slowly back to his car and lit a cigarette.

 

Debbie’d never answered his question, but Brian could imagine what she’d probably told Justin. She’d warned him off. No big deal, she’d done that a couple of times over the years, with some of his more starry-eyed tricks. 

 

But Justin... whether Justin was in love – whether Justin was _obsessed_ with him or not, he had been expecting more from Brian than Brian was prepared to provide. He was only going to get hurt that way, especially with a guy so much older than him. 

 

Better sooner than later, and besides, Brian had said _only for tonight_ , and all he’d done was stuck to his word. 

 

Brian had done the right thing. He knew that. And Debbie was operating under some assumption that Justin was some naïve, tortured youngster, and fuck that. Justin could deal. Brian could tell that the kid was strong enough to wade through peoples’ bullshit and come out the other side. 

 

And who knows, maybe the brief vacation from hustling that hanging out with Brian had provided would give him some incentive to get a real job. Get a real boyfriend, someone doting and different than his average trick.

 

Yes. The right thing. He didn’t even know why he’d showed up in Debbie’s home like that, if he -

 

Brian’s cellphone rang, and he answered it.

 

“Kinney.”

 

He stopped dead. “Jim,” said Brian, “What a surprise to hear from you.”

 

*

 

“And now you can have them all for yourself,” Stockwell said. He spread his hands, a gesture of offering. “So, what do you say?” he said.

 

Brian blinked and shifted to one foot, considering his words. After a second, he raised his head. 

 

“To put it bluntly, Jim, ...why?”

 

Stockwell raised his eyebrows questioningly. 

 

“Why,” said Brian again, “Why give me this, the chance of a lifetime? What do you get out of it?”

 

“A clean conscience, Kinney.” He paused, locking his eyes on Brian’s intently, showing his seriousness. “I was wrong. I know that. Your personal business, your... _differing tastes_ , did not give me due justification to fire you. I can’t undo my actions, but I can make up for them.” He smiled slightly. “Consider the backers an _apology_.”

 

Brian laughed. The _fucker._

 

“I was fucking your nephew up the ass, Jim. On the conference table. On top of some of your _campaign materials_ , _Jim_. You expect me to believe that you, with your upstanding moral principles, can just forgive and forget?”

 

Stockwell’s smile grew strained. “You’re a good man, Kinney. I’m giving you an opportunity.”

 

Brian grinned and leaned forward, bracing his hands on the chair between him and Stockwell. “You’re giving me a _bribe_ , Chief.”

 

Stockwell’s shoulders stiffened. “I don’t know why you would think that.”

 

“Screw the bullshit, I’m onto you.” Brian straightened up and shrugged. “You heard that I was asking questions about your buddy Rikert. Am I right? So you give me a distraction, a yummy little treat. What are you afraid I’ll find?”

 

“Mr. Kinney.” Stockwell wasn’t smiling anymore. In fact, his face could be described as stony. “I think maybe I need to reconsider my offer. I don’t like what you’re insinuating, and frankly, I don’t find it very _funny_.”

 

At least Stockwell knew enough not to deny it. Any denial would stink of involvement. 

 

Brian just looked at him a moment. He nodded slowly, backed away a few steps while maintaining Stockwell’s gaze, and then he turned and left the office without looking back.   
*

 

Michael looked up as the door to the shop swung open. He brightened. “Brian!”

 

Brian nodded at him and came over to the counter, leaning in to peck him lightly on the lips. “Mm,” he said as he drew away, “Mikey. What’s up?”

 

Michael grinned, he was sure he looked insane. “What do you mean?” he said calmly.

 

Brian raised an eyebrow at him and took his sunglasses off, folding them into his pocket. “Michael, you’re glowing. Now ‘fess up.”

 

Michael laughed. “You’re never gonna believe this,” he said, “Hunter came back last night. He did the dishes. He’s going back to school. _He washed his hair._ ” 

 

Oh fine, he was fucking glowing, so what? Michael was proud of Hunter, and really really hoping neither he or Ben would screw up this new, delicate balance. He still had to get the gang together for Hunter’s birthday bash.

 

Brian smiled slightly, but his eyes darkened. “So the littlest hustler has grown up and realized the _error of his ways_ , is that it?” There was some odd tone in his voice. 

 

He looked away from Michael’s stare and flipped through the new issue of _Strangers in Paradise_ on the counter, before closing it with a violent shudder.

 

“What, so you can’t be fucking happy for us?” Michael glared. “Thanks a lot.”

 

Brian looked back up. “I am happy for you.”

 

“No,” said Michael, “You’re fucking not! This is important. He’s going to be staying with me and Ben. He’ll be off the streets, he’ll be getting an education, he won’t be out _risking his life_ every night...”

 

Brian sighed. “I know, I know. And I’m glad. Honestly.”

 

Michael looked torn between anger and concern. “In that case, what the fuck crawled up your ass and died?” 

 

“Nothing,” Brian shook his head. “Just –“ He bit his lip, considering. 

 

“I went to see Stockwell,” he said at last. “He offered me an opportunity. A good one. But I turned him down.”

 

Well, shit. Michael settled on concern. “You’re not serious.”

 

Brian shrugged. “I think he’s trying to make nice. Since I’ve been snooping around him and the Rikert guy.”

 

“What are you gonna do now?” Michael tried to read Brian’s mood, but he couldn’t. He just seemed more subdued than usual.

 

Brian scratched at a price tag stuck to the countertop. “I don’t _know_ what I’m going to fucking do. I’m not a fucking cop, or some faggot ‘gumshoe’ detective.” He laughed again, nervously. 

 

“No, you’re not a cop,” said Michael, “But you’re Brian Kinney, and if you don’t do something I bet my mom’ll get really pissed.”

 

Brian chuckled. “Your mom’s already pissed at me. Don’t ask.” He paused. “So I should keep snooping, life and limb be damned? ‘Stick it to the motherfucker’?”

 

Michael gave him an exasperated look. “Well, no, dumbass. Be careful about it.” He smiled. “But yeah. Stick it to the motherfucker. That’s some noble shit there, worthy of Captain Astro.”

 

Brian put his sunglasses back on. “I’m not Captain Astro,” he said softly. “Don’t you get that, Mikey? I’m not being noble. Stockwell fucked with me. If there’s any way I can bring him down –“

 

“Lots of cool superheroes started out with quests for vengeance,” Michael said brightly. “Like Spawn. But... yeah, I get it.”

 

“Good.” Brian nodded and kissed Michael again. “Then I’m off to question our fine Mr. Rikert, minus the cape.”

 

“Be careful, okay?” Michael said. “Don’t do anything too stupid. He _is_ a murderer.”

 

*

 

Brian drove past the more populated areas of town, into the cheaper, rundown suburbs. Double-checking the address on the TV Guide, he found the house on his second pass through. 

 

The curtains were all drawn, so Brian couldn’t tell if Rikert was home, but he parked the ‘Vette out front and walked up to the door. The house was one-story, made of red brick, and the paint on the window frames was peeling. Brian rapped on the door with his knuckles. 

 

He heard a noise inside, like someone knocking something over. Brian tapped his foot, filled with an unfamiliar nervous energy.

 

The door opened.

 

*

 

Justin shivered slightly, sitting in the shadow of an old industrial rug-making company. It was starting to get dark, and he’d lost his fucking gloves. Shit. His day could not get any worse.

 

What the fuck, anyway? Why did Brian suddenly turn all Mr. Hyde on him? What had he done?

 

Justin buried his head in his crossed arms. Fuck. He hadn’t done anything. Brian was just – he shouldn’t have expected anything more. Obviously his mom had let him watch Pretty Woman one too many times when he was a kid.

 

Justin sighed and glanced up. He immediately spotted a familiar form, and leapt up from his crouch. “Fuck,” he said. “ _Hunter?_ ”

 

Hunter whirled around and spotted him, and came trotting over from where he’d been chatting with the other guys. “Hey, man,” he said. “You’ll never guess what hellhole I stepped into earlier.” He said it with a sneer, but his voice sounded excited.

 

Justin smiled despite himself. It was good to see Hunter. “What?”

 

Hunter made a disgusted shudder. “Public school. Don’t breathe a word of this, the others think I’m totally shacked up with these two fags who pay me to walk around in the buff. I figured it’d be easier that way.”

 

Justin felt his jaw drop open. “You’re going back to school?”

 

Hunter shrugged. “It was either that or... or they’d kick me out. So.”

 

“That’s... Hunter, would it be totally inappropriate to hug you?”

 

Hunter took a step back. “Kinda,” he said with a squeak, then cleared his throat, “Kinda yeah. Appreciate the sentiment and all, but I’d much rather have the fifty bucks and leave out the kinky shit.”

 

Justin grinned. “Fuck you, Hunter.”

 

Hunter’s mouth twitched. 

 

He looked happy, Justin thought, Hunter actually looked happy. 

 

“Fuck off,” said Hunter. “I gotta go anyways. Remember, not a fucking word.” He turned and walked away with a new rolling stride. Once he was halfway to the corner, he shouted a goodbye at the other guys and broke into a run. He turned the corner and disappeared without breaking pace.

 

* 

 

Carl Horvath had always considered himself a good cop. He did his job – caught the bad guys. But for god’s sake, he was getting old. The hero routine just wasn’t for him anymore. Why couldn’t he just retire happily ever after?

 

Why did some loud-mouthed redhead have to make him _care_ so damn much?

 

Carl approached the door of the tiny suburban home, and knocked twice. He waited a moment, then knocked again.

 

“Anyone home?” he called. “This is Detective Horvath.” He knocked again. “Hello?”

 

He paused mid-knock, and backed away from the door. Looking back at the empty neighborhood street, Carl grit his teeth and went back down the porch steps. He took a breath and tried the garage door. It was unlocked, and raised with a metallic rattle when he tugged on it.

 

Carl took slow steps toward the back of the garage, one hand unconsciously coming to rest on his gun. There was a car parked there, a dark Camry with a clean gleam. There was a sponge lying beside one of the wheels. It was still damp.

 

“Hello?” he called again. It was dim inside, the only light coming from the open garage door, and even that was fading. Carl glanced in the car windows. Nothing.

 

Carl took a few more steps and reached the front of the car. The smell of chemical cleaner pinched inside his nostrils, making his eyes water.

 

He halted, looking at the floor beneath his feet.

 

There were tiny specks of reddish-brown spattering the concrete. Carl moved his gaze slowly to the right, noting the pattern and proximity. The spatters got darker, and he saw the tell-tale signs of pooling blood, bits of hair and scalp, the sight partially hidden by the side of the car.

 

A man’s hand, pale and stiff. 

 

Carl sighed. 

 

“Jesus Christ...”

 

He took his hand off his gun, and fished his cell out of his pocket. Nothing to do but call it in. 

 

*

 

Justin was leaning in some guy’s car window when he heard a scuffing sound on the sidewalk behind him. He paused, listening, and the guy took the opportunity to drive off, nearly taking Justin’s arm with him.

 

“Hey!” yelled Justin, “You fucking asshole!”

 

He snorted and turned around, nearly running into the man standing directly behind him.

 

Justin yelped, and the next second wished he hadn’t. He stepped back, taking a deep breath.

 

“Yeah, I know,” said Brian. “So are you coming or what?”

 

Justin’s brain stammered to a halt. “What?” he said.

 

Brian smirked. “I said,” he said, “That seeing as it’s pretty much as cold as last night, if not colder, it would be remiss of me not to offer you shelter.” He spoke like he was quoting someone.

 

Justin started shaking his head before Brian even finished. “No,” he said, “No. And no, I think that about covers it.” He tried to step past Brian and Brian reached out to stop him.

 

“Listen,” said Brian, “Just listen a minute.”

 

Justin stopped and waited, arms crossed.

 

“It’s not safe here tonight. There’s -” Brian stopped and shook his head, like he was trying to clear it, then he met Justin’s eyes. “And I still think you’re hot. I want you,” he said, and his voice was low.

 

Justin closed his eyes. It wasn’t good enough. It wasn’t good enough, but he was going anyway. He wondered if he was that pathetic, that he’d keep grabbing whatever Brian gave him. He didn’t even know how long this thing would last, or how long he could keep Brian’s interest.

 

He didn’t know where he stood anymore. 

 

“Okay,” said Justin. 

 

*

 

Brian didn’t tell Justin about Rikert until after they’d gotten back to the loft and fucked angrily, biting shoulders and clenching fists. 

 

Justin looked at him. “You went to talk to a _murderer._ ”

 

Brian nodded.

 

“In his house,” Justin said flatly.

 

Brian nodded again.

 

“Are you fucking _insane_? He probably had a gun. He could have killed you. You could be dead!”

 

“I’m not dead,” said Brian.

 

Justin sighed. “What did Rikert say?”

 

“He didn’t say a lot,” Brian said. “He’s the quiet type.”

 

Justin sat up and perched on the edge of the bed. “So are you, apparently.” He made a huffing noise. “I can tell it bothered you, or why else would you come back for me tonight? Did Rikert say anything? Did you think you’d find me in a dumpster or something?”

 

Brian said nothing.

 

“Brian,” said Justin, “What the fuck was all that this morning, anyway? I mean, I don’t need that. I don’t have to put up with it, or you. You could have just asked me _politely_ to leave instead of being a royal prick.”

 

“That wasn’t the point,” said Brian. “The point is that we’re just fucking each other. It’s us getting off, not getting hitched. I just wanted you to clear out, I had stuff to do.”

 

“Bullshit,” said Justin.

 

Brian reached over and pulled Justin onto his back, then crawled over him until he could easily stroke Justin’s dick. “Yeah,” he said. “Whatever.”

 

Justin closed his eyes and made a noise in the back of his throat, and Brian stroked harder, wanting him to make that sound again.

 

“Gah –“ Justin said, and his eyes flew open and locked on Brian’s. He smiled slightly and started chuckling. “Fuck, Brian,” he said, but he didn’t continue. Brian raised his eyebrows and grabbed a condom. 

 

Justin closed his eyes again, arching his back and spreading his thighs apart, and Brian inhaled sharply. 

 

Just when he thought he had all of it figured out, the kid had to go and be fucking _breathtaking._

 

*

 

Brian woke up.

 

Justin lay next to him, barely discernible in the darkness. He was twisting restlessly, and every so often he would make a small noise.

 

After a moment’s hesitation, Brian pressed himself against Justin’s side and ran his hand along Justin’s arm gently. A second later, Justin jerked awake.

 

“Hey,” Brian said hoarsely, “Bad dream?”

 

Justin didn’t say anything at first, then just nodded, his short hair brushing against Brian’s shoulder.

 

“Yeah,” he said, “Bad dream.”

 

Brian rubbed his nose against the top of Justin’s head. He smelled a little bit like Brian’s conditioner.

 

“Well... it’s okay,” he said awkwardly.

 

“I know it’s okay,” said Justin, “It was just a stupid dream,” but he turned into Brian’s chest a little bit more.

 

Brian closed his eyes. This was a bad idea after all. He shouldn’t have gone back on his decision, shouldn’t have gotten Justin to stay another night. The warmth of Justin next to him, the noises he made, - his _smile_ \- Brian was going crazy, there was no way. 

 

“- I was just thinking,” he started.

 

Justin nuzzled him sleepily. “What?”

 

“You can spend nights here for a while,” Brian said quietly. “Not just tonight. It’d be someplace for you to go.”

 

Fuck. Why had he said that?

 

Justin jolted fully awake against his side. 

 

He rolled some of his weight off and leaned back, trying to see Brian’s face in the darkness.

 

“It’d be like me living with you,” Justin said, “You don’t want that.”

 

“Don’t tell me what I want, kid. And I didn’t say _every_ night – you know, fuck it, nevermind.”

 

“Brian,” said Justin, and he rested his hand on Brian’s hip. “Are you sure? I mean, you hardly know me.”

 

“Weren’t you just telling me the other night that I do know you? That I know you better than most people?” Brian drew away and got out of bed. He grabbed his pack of cigarettes, shook one out and lit it, inhaling deeply. 

 

He sighed. “Justin, all I’m offering is... a place to lay low for a while. If it gets to be too much.”

 

Justin sat up in the bed and looked at him, but Brian couldn’t make out his expression. “Why do you care?” Justin asked.

 

Brian shrugged and took another drag of smoke. His lungs burned. “I don’t know,” he said. 

 

He exhaled slowly, and shrugged. “Maybe I just do.”


	8. Your Kingbird

Carl Horvath cleared his throat and picked up the phone. It rang five times before a bleary voice answered.

 

“Kinney,” said Carl. “I have some news.”

 

*

 

Brian clicked “off” and tossed the phone onto the floor. Its momentum sent it skittering across the floor.

 

“What was that about?” Justin asked. 

 

“I need a fucking cigarette,” Brian said.

 

Justin sighed. “Look, Brian,” he said, “You pissed me off enough yesterday. And now we’re going to be seeing more of each other, so maybe you could try to get on my good side?”

 

“I thought I did get on your good side,” Brian grinned. He slapped at Justin’s ass and Justin moved away. 

 

Brian sighed and said, “Rikert’s dead.”

 

Justin blinked. “ _What?_ ”

 

“Horvath says that they found him yesterday, in his garage. He shot himself.”

 

Justin let out a shuddering breath. “But you were there yesterday.”

 

“Must’ve done it after I left.” Brian shrugged and gestured at Justin. “Hey, c’mere.”

 

Justin crawled back onto the bed and lay next to Brian. Brian ran a hand over Justin’s head, stroking the soft hair at the base of his skull. 

 

Justin said “Mmm,” and nuzzled into Brian’s chest. “So what happens now?”

 

Brian flipped Justin onto his back and hooked a leg over his waist. “Who says anything’s going to happen?” he said. “With Rikert dead – justice has been done.”

 

Justin shook his head. “But what about Stockwell?”

 

Brian licked a nipple and bit at it gently before raising his head. “What about him?”

 

“What do you – Oh. _Fuck_ ,” said Justin with realization, “I can’t believe you’re giving up.”

 

Brian placed a hand on Justin’s cheek. “Look at me,” Brian said, “I’ve done all I can do. I talked to Horvath. I talked to you and Hunter. I got Horvath his evidence – I even talked to the murderer, for chrissakes.”

 

He shrugged. “As much as I would like to see Stockwell go up in flames, _how_? – I’m an unemployed, blacklisted _faggot_ , with a boy hustler for a sidekick. It’s not like I can go after him using my great powers of mind control.” 

 

Brian kissed Justin gently. “That’s life,” Brian added softly. “That’s life knocking you down and kicking you in the ass. This time next week, Stockwell will be mayor.”

 

Justin nodded and looked at him a minute, jaw tensed. “Well,” he said finally, changing the subject. “You’ve still got the TV.”

 

Brian laughed. “Yeah. At least it’s liquid.”

 

“Yeah.” Justin smiled and started poking at Brian’s ribs. It took him a moment to realize that Justin was trying to tickle him.

 

“What the fuck?” said Brian. He started poking back, sending Justin frantically scrambling away. 

 

“Hey,” Justin wheezed, “No fair!”

 

Brian laughed. “No? No fair? You little shit,” and leapt off the bed after him. 

 

Justin dodged one way, another, and took off running toward the bathroom, with Brian in close pursuit. An instant after Justin darted into the bathroom, he slid the door shut with a click and locked it, right in Brian’s face.

 

“Fucker!” Brian shouted, but he was still smiling. 

 

*

 

“Brian,” said Justin. “Why do you have frosted cocoa puffs in your cupboard?”

 

“I fucking don’t.” Brian glanced at what Justin was holding and his brow furrowed. “The fuck? Give me that.” He snatched it away and inspected the label carefully. It appeared to be frosted cocoa puffs.

 

Justin grinned and shrugged, and grabbed the box back. “Finders keepers, go get your own.”

 

Brian cuffed him lightly on the side of the head. “Brat.”

 

He turned away, but Justin tugged him back around.

 

Justin had an odd expression on his face. “What?” said Brian. “Are they stale? They should be, I don’t know where they fucking came from to begin with. I looked all through those cabinets the other day.”

 

“No, I just –“ Justin stopped, and leaned in, setting the cereal box down and taking Brian’s hands in his. “I should thank you.”

 

“What for?” Brian said.

Justin didn’t answer. He tilted his head and kissed Brian deeply and leisurely. When he broke away, Brian looked at him for a moment, and snorted in amusement. 

 

“In _that_ case,” said Brian, “You’re welcome. But don’t thank me for letting you stay here. It’s... don’t.”

 

“It’s not for that,” Justin said. “It’s not for that at all.”

 

He kissed Brian again, a little bit differently. Brian groaned, his skin suddenly burning. He tugged his hands from Justin’s grasp and grabbed him by the hips, shuddering against him. 

 

They tried to make it to the bed, but they only got as far as the steps. The wooden edges cut into Brian’s back, and he was pretty sure he’d have bruises on his ribs, but he didn’t care as long as Justin didn’t stop.

 

“Fuck,” he gasped, “Like that, yeah –“

 

Justin drew away from Brian’s dick, panting slightly. “I want to fuck you,” he said.

 

Brian’s eyes flew open. “What? No, no fucking way.”

 

Justin smirked. “But you’re so _hot_ for it, Brian...”

 

Brian chuckled, not answering, and stretched his back, grinding his hips and his hard cock against Justin’s stomach. Justin groaned and twitched away, then ground back against him with the next breath. He seized the backs of Brian’s thighs, using them to bring himself closer.

 

Brian’s elbows slid out from under him, and he cracked his head against the step. He let out a “Fuck!” at the sudden ache. 

 

Justin cocked an eyebrow at him and rubbed against his cock again, the damp, sweaty skin-against-skin contact sending Brian’s nerves skittering. He tried to brace his feet on the floor, but he couldn’t find purchase, and his muscles were trembling too much for him to keep himself steady.

 

So he didn’t try – he let himself relax, forgetting the uncomfortable position easily when Justin bit at his collarbone and pressed his stomach against him. Justin reached a hand down between their torsos and grasped Brian’s cock, stroking carefully.

 

Brian was vaguely aware of Justin’s other hand cradling his head, protecting the back of his skull from any further damage... but he was mainly focused on the smell of Justin’s sweat, the rocking of their bodies, the fingers on his cock, and the slowly building pressure and sweetness in his limbs.

 

“Ohh -” Brian bit his lip, and Justin licked the bared teeth. At the touch of Justin’s mouth, Brian let his jaw fall open, let Justin explore the inside curve of his lip with his tongue. Justin whimpered in arousal and tensed for a moment, and Brian felt hot wetness against his thigh.

 

Justin kept stroking Brian, and soon the aching friction triggered him. He came, jerking against Justin’s cushioning grasp. “Oh, _god_.” 

 

Catching his breath, Justin sighed and rolled off of Brian, sitting down carefully on the floor next to the steps.

 

“You okay?” Justin said, and Brian mumbled something unintelligible.

 

Justin nudged Brian to get off the stairs, eventually tugging Brian off of them as dead weight. “Turn over,” he said, and Brian laughed faintly, but did so.

 

He traced the red marks on Brian’s back with gentle fingers. “Shit,” said Justin, “You’re going to be really bruised.”

 

“I’m not surprised,” Brian said, and wincing, rolled on his back again. He felt stickiness on his chest, pulling at his skin. “Shit, I’m a mess. I don’t think I can fucking move right now.”

 

Justin oof-ed and stood up. “Be right back.”

 

He padded over to the kitchen sink and brought back some dish towels dampened with warm water. He wiped the drying semen off of Brian’s torso and his own, and tossed the towels to the side and sloppily kissed Brian’s eyebrow, then his temple. 

 

“What are you doing?” said Brian, wrinkling his forehead.

 

Justin smiled a little goofily. “Nothing.”

 

Brian recognized Justin’s tone, the soft look in his eyes, and what it meant. Shit. He should do something, say something, be _angry_ about it... 

 

But somehow, he didn’t seem to mind.

 

He must be going _insane_.

 

*

 

Michael was bagging back-issues of _Hellblazer_ when Brian came in. 

 

Not really looking up, Michael waved a copy in the air and said, “Hey, can you _believe_ that in the movie, they’re making –“ he stopped abruptly as a slightly scruffy kid came in behind Brian. 

 

If it hadn’t been obvious that the kid was with Brian, it would have been made obvious by the proprietary arm that Brian casually slung around the kid’s shoulders. “Hey, Mikey,” said Brian cheerfully. 

 

Well, this was a far cry from the Brian of yesterday – the insecure, cranky, “I’m not a detective” Brian Kinney. Apparently he’d fucked all his worries away. As always.

 

“This,” said Brian, “is Justin. He’s... a friend of mine. Justin, this is Michael.”

 

Justin smiled and reached out to shake Michael’s hand. “Hi,” he said, “Nice to meet you. I –“ he glanced at Brian, who shrugged, and he continued. “I heard what you and your boyfriend’re doing for Hunter. That’s really cool of you.”

 

Michael nodded slowly. “Well, we just want to help him out, however we can,” Michael said. He tried to remember if he’d seen this kid – Justin - somewhere before, because he looked vaguely familiar.

 

“Still,” said Justin, “Not many people would do that. I know.”

 

Michael looked at Brian, whose face was unreadable. Huh.

 

He’d get an explanation out of Brian later. “So,” Michael said, “Did you ever go talk to Rikert?”

 

*

 

Brian breezed out of Michael’s store, letting Justin catch the door behind him. 

 

“Where to now?” he said. 

 

Justin didn’t say anything. Brian looked over at him. Justin was staring at the ground, head angled away, walking briskly. Brian actually had to lengthen his strides to catch up, brushing past a man who was putting a flyer up on a telephone pole, and who Justin was quite obviously trying to avoid. 

 

Once they were in sight of the ‘Vette, Justin slowed, but still walked a little closer to Brian’s side than before. Brian didn’t ask him about it until they were back at the ‘Vette. 

 

“Who was he?” Brian said. Maybe Justin had recognized the guy as an old trick.

 

Justin closed his eyes. “My dad.”

 

_Shit._

 

“He didn’t get a good look at me,” Justin said, “so he didn’t recognize me. But... can we go back to your place now?”

 

*

 

Justin left the bathroom door open this time.

 

Brian stripped down and joined him in the shower, pressing himself against Justin’s wet back.

 

“You okay?” he asked.

 

Justin let out a half-laugh. “Yeah,” he said, “I’m fine, really I am.”

 

Brian wrapped his arms around Justin’s waist, and rested his chin on Justin’s shoulder, closing his eyes against the shower spray. “Right,” he said.

 

Justin unfolded himself from Brian’s arms just long enough to finish rinsing the soap from his body, then stepped back into the embrace.

 

“I feel so confused sometimes, that’s all,” he said. 

 

Justin wasn’t sure whether or not he was glad that his father hadn’t seen him. He thought maybe he _was_ glad, and wasn’t that a little fucked in the head?

 

Brian was silent for a second, then turned off the water and pushed Justin roughly against the glass shower wall, face first. 

 

Rivulets of the beaded water ran down the glass where Justin’s hands landed. It felt like Brian was trying to cover him with his body, meeting Justin’s arms with his own arms, Justin’s hips with his own hips. 

 

“Will you let me fuck you?” Brian said, his voice calm and low. 

 

Whenever Justin had been in Brian’s bathroom over the last few days, he remembered that morning so long ago. How Brian had followed him into the shower, and fucked him against the side. How he couldn’t get enough.

 

It had haunted him, but now the ghost was here, warm against his back. He couldn’t ask for more.

 

Justin shook off his thoughts. His skin was starting to cool from the moisture still on him. He heard the quiet drip of the faucet, where the flow hadn’t been completely cut off.

 

“Yes,” said Justin. He pressed back against Brian, who still seemed to be waiting for something.

 

Impatient, Justin paused, added, “I’ll let you fuck me. I’ll beg you to fuck me, even. I could beg you to let me come...”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” said Brian, and Justin felt Brian’s cock firming against his ass. 

 

“You’re getting hard,” said Justin. So was he. This was good, with Brian, this was good.

 

“Fuck me. I made you hard,” Justin teased, then his voice went deeper. “Do I make you _hard_ , Brian?”

 

Brian panted in his ear, and Justin heard the rip of a condom packet. When Brian spoke again, his voice was hoarse.

 

“Yes, you make me hard,” he said. “You make me fucking explode,” and his cock pushed into Justin’s ass, stinging and stretching him open.

 

Justin gasped - “Ah, fuck -”

 

Brian drew out and thrust back in, deep, whispering in Justin’s ear “Gonna fuck you so hard, gonna open you wide with me, all of me, you remember this?”

 

Brian paused suddenly. “Do you _remember_ this?” he repeated. His voice was strained.

 

“Always,” panted Justin, “always will, for god’s sake fuck me,” and Brian reached around and stroked Justin’s cock, thrusting into him in a scattered, mismatched rhythm. 

 

“Fuck,” Brian said, his tone gone harsh and breathless, “Fuck –“

 

Justin moaned deep, already beyond words. He reached behind him with one hand, grabbed Brian’s shoulder and used it as added leverage, feeling the stabbing ache, the hot sparks of blood rushing to his cock, feeling Brian go even deeper. 

 

His fingernails dug into Brian’s skin. Justin ground back against him, riding him, still hard and tight and _fucking_ \- and Brian came.

 

Brian moaned, a guttural, half-choked noise, and slumped against Justin’s back. He didn’t pull out right away, just stayed where he was and kept his hand moving on Justin’s dick until Justin shuddered his orgasm a few seconds later. 

 

“Oh,” gasped Justin. “Oh. Brian. Fuck.”

 

Brian straightened up and slowly disengaged from Justin, discarding the condom on the tile at their feet. He leaned carefully against the glass by Justin’s side. 

 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, breathing heavily. He ran one hand down Justin’s back, soothing the aftershocks.

 

“No,” said Justin. “Mmm, oh fuck that was good.” He carefully peeled himself from the cool surface and latched onto the frame of the glass for support. “I feel better. I can honestly say,” laughed Justin, “that you fucked it all better.”

 

Brian smiled slightly and closed his eyes. “Good to know,” he said. 

 

*

 

“I know you ate some of this when I wasn’t looking,” said Justin, holding the frosted cocoa puffs box. “Because I know I didn’t eat all of it, and now there isn’t any left.”

 

“It’s entirely possible,” said Brian, “That you’re delusional. And you _so_ ate all of it.” 

 

“Fuck you,” Justin said, sounding amused, and he threw away the empty box. 

 

Brian stared at the TV. It was playing some bullshit show about plastic surgery that he had been completely oblivious to for the past half-hour. 

 

*

 

They fucked two more times and finally ended up in Brian’s bed. 

 

Brian imagined seeing the two of them from above, there in the dark, pale forms against the gray sheets. All sweaty and splayed across the mattress. 

 

The dining table held a plate and a couple of empty shot glasses, one of which had been knocked over carelessly, and the cord to Brian’s phone had been yanked from the wall.

 

Justin ran his fingers down Brian’s leg and cupped his heel in his hand. “Hmmm,” he said.

 

Brian squirmed slightly, trying to get his ass out of a damp patch on the sheets, while carefully not moving his foot out of Justin’s grasp. Justin’s head nestled in the bend of his other knee, his breath warming the inside of Brian’s thighs.

 

“Justin,” Brian said. He stared up at familiar dark rafters.

 

“Yeah?” said Justin. 

 

Brian didn’t answer.

 

Justin let go of Brian’s foot and sat up slowly. “Brian? What is it?” Because it was important. If it hadn’t been important, Brian wouldn’t be saying anything in the first place. 

 

“Nothing,” said Brian, shaking his head. “It’s nothing.”

 

“...Right.” Justin moved to the side and lay down on his back next to Brian, barely touching him. His arm and shoulder lightly skimmed Brian’s side. He took a breath and let it out slowly.

 

Brian turned his head slightly, making eye contact as best as he could. “Justin. What did you want to be?”

 

Justin blinked. He didn’t even try to misunderstand. 

 

“An artist,” Justin breathed. “I wanted to be an artist.”

 

Brian laughed quietly. “I should have guessed.”

 

“I can’t now, though,” Justin said, and Brian fell silent. “With my hand. It gets tired easily, it cramps and shakes all over the fucking place. You saw, the other day. Sometimes I can barely sign my name.”

 

Justin shifted until the top of his head pressed against Brian’s cheek, and rubbed his nose into Brian’s shoulder. “I remember old sketches and drawings I used to do. They were all so young, so stupid. Kittens and puppies. My mom and my sister, my dad, always smiling. I’d even sketch dumbass flowerpots.” He paused for a moment, then continued distantly. 

 

“I’ve seen so much now... It means something, all that sadness, the sex, the – the violent _image_ of it all. I can picture it. I could make it mean so much, I could show people... so much.” He traced his fingertips over Brian’s chest, and rested his hand over Brian’s heart, rubbing lightly just under the nipple. 

 

“Every line, every shade of gray and black. I see in my head exactly what I could do, and how I could make it look.” Justin turned toward Brian and nuzzled his neck. Stopped, and drew away. 

 

He sounded harsher, like all of him was grounded again. “Or, how I _should_ be able to make it look. I can’t do it now. I just can’t do it.” His voice suddenly cracked. “And I wonder, sometimes, what if my hand gets worse...”

 

Brian rolled over, pinning Justin against the bed – breathed against his face, tracing warm air from Justin’s forehead slowly down, and then kissed him on the tip of his nose. 

 

“It won’t get worse,” Brian said.

 

“You don’t know that –“

 

“It won’t get worse. What do you do for your hand? Any kind of therapy? Massage?” 

 

As Brian spoke, he reached down for the hand in question. He brought it to his chest and started to rub Justin’s palm, gently and firmly massaging outwards, toward his fingers. 

 

His fingers curled around Brian’s, but Justin still gave him an incredulous look. “I don’t even have a home, Brian. How the fuck could I have therapy?” Suddenly angry, he tried to snatch his hand back. “...Get off me.”

 

“Justin –“

 

“I said get off!”

 

Justin pushed Brian partway off his body, and kicked him a couple of times in the legs until he rolled away completely. 

 

“Justin.” Ignoring the pain in his shins, and the bit of his brain that was screaming charming, colloquial warnings like _You don’t fucking go and poke a tiger with a stick_ , Brian reached out for him, but Justin batted his hand away.

 

“No.” Justin coughed. “Just don’t touch me.”

 

Justin was crying. Only a little, Brian could barely notice it in the dark, but there were definitely a few tears. Shit. He refused to feel guilty.

 

But even worse than the tears, Justin was _really_ pissed off.

 

“Don’t _fucking_ condescend to me,” he said angrily. “I don’t need that. I don’t need any fucking take-charge bullshit.”

 

Brian got off the bed and went to the kitchen to get a beer.

 

“Do you hear me?” Justin followed him, insistent, unmindful of his and Brian’s nudity. “Do you understand? Tell me you understand.”

 

Brian pressed the beer against his cheek, the cool bottle soothing the heat of his cheeks. “I understand. I get it,” he said. 

 

And he wanted to avoid the subject as much as Justin did, but he... 

 

He couldn’t leave it alone now. It was there, in the back of his mind, and he couldn’t just forget about it like he’d been doing before.

 

Fuck, he just _couldn’t_. 

 

Justin stopped a few feet away from him, and just stared. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. Thank you.”

 

“You’ve got to do something soon, though,” said Brian. “You can’t – it’s not – fuck. It’s not something you can keep doing with your life.”

 

“I know,” said Justin. “But that’s my deal. My shit.” Pause. “And you have nothing to do with it.”

 

Brian looked at him. “If you just need money... Or anything. I could help. You know I could.”

 

Justin nodded, his eyes sad. “But... I don’t want you to. I don’t want to be some pity project. I don’t want to be some expensive new gadget you can blow your bucks on, like that fucking TV.” 

 

He saw Brian wince at that. Justin’s face went blank. He cocked his head to one side, like something was just occurring to him. “Unless, of course, you’d like to pay me.”

 

Brian slammed his bottle on the counter, bile rising in his throat. 

 

No. Fuck. _Fuck._

 

Flashes of distorted could-have-beens, the thoughts he kept pushing back down whenever they came to mind. 

 

He saw himself picking up Justin under that streetlight, but this time, he took Justin to the loft and pushed him on the bed under those blue lights. Tossed some money on his chest with a hateful sneer, and got out that old silk scarf in the closet...

 

_One John Doe, dead of apparent strangulation, found in a dumpster behind the Liberty Diner..._

 

No, no, didn’t happen that way, wouldn’t, hadn’t, couldn’t. He would never – 

 

But Justin would. Justin would do it. Hard up enough for cash, and Justin would do it, let him strip him down, _fuck_ him, put that white silk around his throat _so tight_ \- such an innocent, trusting little face -

 

“ _Fuck you,_ ” said Brian. Too many words, too many – “You think I need to pay? That I want to pay for you? That you’re some kind of mid-life bullshit _crisis_ for me?” His eyes burned, and he felt tremors running through his hands, shaking with repressed energy. 

 

“You think that I – that I even fucking _want_ you around? _A hustler?_ You’re assuming you matter. You’re operating,” Brian said, “Under the mistaken assumption that I actually give a shit. Tell me.” 

 

Justin’s face was wide and open, too fucking familiar. “I’m sorry I said that, Brian, I don’t think –“

 

Brian turned, took a couple steps and stuck his face right up in Justin’s, hands hovering inches from Justin’s arms, barely noticing that he’d backed Justin up against the counter. Pinned him there. “Tell me, _kid_. You think I give a flying fuck about a piece of half-used, _fucked-_ out _boy ass_?”

 

Justin flinched visibly, but swallowed and locked eyes with Brian. Standing his ground.

 

Brian took a shuddering breath, all the rage leaving him at once. He fought a sudden wave of exhaustion, and nearly collapsed against Justin with the force of it. 

 

He could still hear his own words ringing in his ears. Brutal and violent. Brian felt sick.

 

Justin gingerly ran one hand up Brian’s naked back, and spoke softly. Those three simple little words that Brian never, ever wanted to hear. 

 

“But don’t you?” 

 

Brian grabbed Justin’s face in his hands, and kissed him hard.


	9. Your Kingbird

He bit the corner of Justin’s mouth, grazed Justin’s tongue with his teeth, tried to crawl inside Justin’s mouth and devour him. 

 

One hand came to the back of Justin’s head to hold him still, and the other crushed Justin’s good wrist against the counter. Don’t move.

 

Don’t think. Don’t think.

 

The rage was gone, but what the fuck was left? Desperation?

 

Justin reached up with his right hand and gripped the hair at the nape of Brian’s neck, twisted slightly and yanked until Brian finally gasped in pain and broke free from Justin’s mouth. 

 

Don’t think. 

 

Don’t move.

 

Justin’s lips were bruised dark red, and he was panting for breath. His eyes were dilated, the black nearly eclipsing the pale blue irises. Fuck. 

 

He looked battered and torn and - horrifyingly beautiful.

 

“Justin,” said Brian, “Oh, Christ.”

 

Spots crept into the corners of Brian’s eyes, and all of a sudden Justin looked concerned. Fuck that. Justin shouldn’t be the one concerned.

 

“Brian,” said Justin. “Brian - I think –“ He blinked up at him, wrinkling his nose like he was still some innocent tyke. “You’re freaking out. Brian, breathe, okay?”

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” said Brian, and discovered with a flash of horror that he was still holding Justin’s wrist pinned to the counter. He let go of Justin like his skin was on fire, and backed away until he hit the kitchen island. Fuck. Why did he need so much fucking furniture? It was all around him. Nowhere to go.

 

He closed his eyes and breathed in. And then Justin’s hands were on his face, stroking softly underneath his eyes and smoothing his hair back from his forehead.

 

“I’m sorry,” said Justin.

 

“Don’t be,” Brian said tiredly. “No. Don’t be.”

 

“But I shouldn’t have said that. About you... paying for it. I know you don’t -”

 

“Shhh,” said Brian, and he felt his mind starting to sink into something dark and warm and fuzzy around the edges. He was so exhausted. “Shh. Not right now.”

 

He faintly felt Justin’s lips on his cheek, and thought about how swollen they must be, about how he did that. He did it. 

 

“You fucker,” Justin laughed quietly. “You’re falling asleep. You get me so hard I can’t see straight,” he said, pressing against Brian’s hip to illustrate his point, “And _now_ you’re falling asleep.” 

 

Brian tried to smile and failed. “Guess so, Sunshine.” 

Justin murmured something Brian couldn’t make out, and hugged him for a minute. Brian let go. Let himself drift, and rested his cheek against Justin’s neck, his eyelashes brushing against warm flesh. 

 

*

 

When Brian woke, it was morning. Justin was already up and sitting over by the kitchen counter. He was dressed in a pair of Brian’s jeans with the legs rolled up and was reading the newspaper. 

 

“Hey,” Justin said softly, seeing Brian stir. “Good morning.” 

 

Brian blinked the last remnants of sleep from his mind. Memories of the previous night hit him hard. 

 

Shit. He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up bad.

 

When Justin didn’t receive a response to his greeting, he glanced at Brian over the top of his newspaper.

 

“You’re up,” Brian said.

 

Justin blinked at him and ignored the obviousness of the statement. “So’s Stockwell,” he said instead. “He’s doing incredibly well in the polls, you should be proud.”

 

Brian rolled over and groaned, burying his face in the sheets. They smelled strongly of sex and the faint odor of latex. 

 

“I don’t understand you,” said Justin. “You went through all that shit, to give up now. That’s useless. I mean, you can still bring down Stockwell, or do _something_. So why not?”

 

“If you have any fucking bright ideas,” said Brian. “Feel free to share them.”

 

“Hmm,” said Justin. He hopped off his stool, came over to the bed, and sat next to Brian’s sprawled form. He bopped him lightly in the head with the rolled up newspaper. “That _was_ my bright idea. That you shouldn’t give up.”

 

“I’ve already... you’re being deliberately obtuse,” Brian said accusingly. His voice was muffled by the blanket.

 

Justin snorted. “Ooh, _big-word_ hangover man. I’m so _impressed_ by your _verbosity_. Also, I got 1500 on my SATs. Answer the question. Why not?”

 

Brian shrugged and turned his head to look at Justin. “Rikert’s _dead_.”

 

“Yeah, so?” said Justin. “He was a slimebucket.”

 

“So, it’s over.”

 

Justin just looked at him for a minute. 

 

Brian squinted at him. “What?”

 

Justin looked pensive. “Brian.” He paused. “It’s _not_ over, you know? I mean, sure, maybe Jason’s murderer is dead, but...”

 

“I’m not going to do anything, Justin. I keep telling you that, and yet you’re surprised when I say it again.” Brian’s voice came out exasperated.

 

“I know,” said Justin. “And I know I haven’t known you very long. It just seems so out of character for you.”

 

Brian sighed. “And what’s _in_ character for me?” he said.

 

Justin sighed almost inaudibly and stroked Brian’s hair off his forehead. “I think... that it’s in character for you to care,” he said quietly. “To stay true to what you believe in, and make things happen. And to be a better man than Stockwell.”

 

“You’re right,” said Brian, “You really haven’t known me very long.”

 

Justin shrugged. “I just see it in you, I guess. Besides, you didn’t have to do any of the things you’ve done for me, like letting me stay here. Why would you, unless -”

 

“Unless I believed in you?” Brian said in a gently mocking tone.

 

“That’s not what I meant,” said Justin, a flush coming to his cheeks.

 

Brian stared at him. After a moment, he reached up and drew Justin in for a kiss.

 

“Mmm,” said Justin when they broke apart. “I needed that. Your breath stinks, though.”

 

“It’s _your_ cum that I’ve been gargling all night,” said Brian, and Justin made a face at him.

 

“Well,” said Justin, “I gotta go.”

 

Brian stiffened, but spoke casually. “Where to?”

 

“I just need to check on some stuff. I’ll be back later.” There was an odd tone to Justin’s voice.

 

“If this is about last night –“

 

“No.” Justin said quickly. “No, it’s not about that. I just think... I still don’t want to be mooching off of you and taking up your space.”

 

Brian smiled faintly. “Mooching?”

 

Justin hit him with the newspaper again. “Shut up!” He turned serious. “So, I’m gonna give you some alone time. I’ll be okay. You won’t have to worry about me.” He dragged his fingers through Brian’s hair, a gentle, repetitive motion that almost made Brian shiver. 

 

Everything was okay. Which was why Justin was leaving, when Brian had finally decided that Justin was welcome to stay.

 

Brian shut his eyes again, ignoring the sharp pains shooting through his brain. Sometimes it seemed like he had a permanent hangover. “Let me give you enough money for lunch, then.”

 

“No,” said Justin. “I have enough cash for that. But if you want to give me some change for the bus, that’d be cool.”

 

Brian said nothing, just rested his forehead against Justin’s knee, watching the patterns play themselves out across his closed eyelids. 

 

*

 

Justin shut the door to Brian’s loft, took a breath, and slowly walked down the stairs, counting the steps as he went.

 

He wasn’t coming back.

 

It wasn’t anything Brian had done. Sure, they’d both freaked out a bit last night, said things they probably wished they could take back, but fuck, Justin could handle that. If anything, it showed that Brian really did care what happened to him.

 

And that was the problem. Justin couldn’t let Brian get involved. Brian would try to pay for him, feed him... and Justin wouldn’t be a burden on anyone. No. He just wouldn’t. When he’d left home, it was with the full understanding that from then on, he, and only he, was responsible for his life. That was the deal. 

 

And why the fuck his parents were choosing _now_ to come looking for him, he didn’t know. What Justin did know was that if he had stayed any longer with Brian, he would’ve ended up falling for him hard. He would have forgotten that his arrangement with Brian was temporary, and been caught by surprise when Brian decided he was no longer a charity organization.

 

Justin didn’t want pity. He didn’t want someone else trying to rescue him. And nothing else mattered. He wouldn’t _let_ it matter.

 

Justin emerged into the cold daylight outside Brian’s building. He felt suddenly queasy, suddenly knowing that if he took another step, everything would change back to the way it used to be. Before he followed Hunter to that Corvette, and found someone he’d forgotten he’d been looking for. 

 

He hesitated only a beat, then set off down the sidewalk, heading back towards the warehouses.

 

*

 

The thing about not having a job, thought Brian, is that you have absolutely nothing to do in the middle of the day.

 

He tried watching some pay-per-view on the liquid television, but they were all movies he’d seen recently and completely hated. 

 

He went over to his computer, clicked on a couple of folders, and stared at them for a minute. Then shook his head, closed the files, and went back to pacing.

 

He thought about dropping in on Debbie at the diner, then remembered how well his last conversation with her had gone, and he’d rather eat rusty nails than her goddamn lemon bars anyway. 

 

He considered visiting Michael, realized that Hunter would probably be there, and decided there was really only one scrawny teenage hustler he wanted anywhere near his dick, thank you very much.

 

Brian wondered if Justin would rip him a new asshole if he searched him out and demanded he spend the day at the loft. Justin seemed like a good cure for boredom. Then he wondered when exactly Justin had become part of his plan making. Fuck that, he could contain himself until Justin came back later.

 

That left one option. Brian zipped on his coat, slipped out the door, and went to Woody’s. 

 

He spotted a hunky guy leaning in the corner, watching another guy play pool. Tall, spiked bleached hair, muscles like ropes.

 

“Wanna fuck?” said Brian impatiently, and the guy blinked at him for a moment.

 

The guy shrugged. “Sure, okay.” 

 

*

 

Justin heard the car on the street behind him slow down to a cruise, but he kept walking and ignored it. 

 

It was _really_ fucking cold. His breath clung to the air, and he kept shivering with every slight breeze. His cheeks felt like ice. 

 

God, it wasn’t even evening yet. Justin really didn’t want to be outdoors tonight with this weather. It had turned out to be a fucking _great_ time to decide not to go back to Brian’s loft.

 

A few seconds later the car behind him sped up briefly, and pulled over to the curb right in front of him. 

 

Justin hesitated a step, then walked over to the passenger-side door, and the driver rolled the window down for him to lean in. The inside of the car was warm. The heat was probably turned all the way up. Justin draped himself in the frame of the window as a small relief from the chill.

 

“You look cold,” said the driver, leaning over toward Justin. He was probably in his 40’s, and luckily, not terribly repulsive.

 

Justin shrugged, and rubbed his hip against the car door. “Been warmer.”

 

The driver looked kind of uncomfortable. Probably his first time. He opened his mouth a couple of times, finally said, “How much?”

 

“How much do you want, hot stuff?” Justin pinned him with a stare, and shifted position slightly so his crotch was right in the guy’s level of vision. He licked his lips provocatively, noticing how badly chapped they were.

 

Fuck, he really needed to get warm, so the guy had better wrap this up soon and let him get in the fucking car before he froze to the side of it.

 

The guy said “Um,” and sat back in his seat. Wordlessly pulled down the zipper on his khakis.

 

“All right,” said Justin. “I’m feeling generous. Say sixty, and you keep the heat on full blast. Deal?”

 

He nodded, and Justin quickly got in the car and rolled up the window. Gestured for the money, and waited while the guy-turned-trick shakily got out a few twenties.

 

“Hey,” said the trick. “After this, how about if you come to my place, and... let me f-fuck you?”

 

“Yeah,” said Justin. “Okay.”

 

“How much for – I mean, I wanna do it without a condom.”

 

_(“Nobody else had the rule except me, and Jason. He wouldn’t let anyone fuck him without a condom. You don’t get as many tricks that way, but if you ever think of moving past this life, it’s something you have to do for yourself. You know?”)_

 

Justin went completely still. Said, “I dunno. I... yeah. Okay.”

 

The trick looked around to make sure the street was empty, then reclined his seat slightly. Justin braced one arm against the bottom of the steering wheel, and placed his other hand against the side of the man’s seat for support. He leaned down toward the undone fly.

 

The guy was already hard under his briefs. He groaned at Justin’s proximity to his dick, and reached to pull the white fabric down, exposing his erection.

 

Justin put his mouth on the head of the trick’s dick and tongued it, felt it stiffen further in his mouth, 

 

and then he stopped. 

 

“What?” said the trick, all confused and blotchy in the face. “I already paid you.”

 

Justin drew back slightly and looked at the guy’s cock, slightly glistening with saliva. 

 

Some distant part of his mind noticed that the hand he’d braced on the seat was trembling violently. But that didn’t make sense to him right away, because it wasn’t his gimp hand, and he wasn’t cold anymore, he was warm. He really shouldn’t be shivering.

 

The guy groaned and thrust a little bit, trying to get Justin’s lips on his dick again.

 

Blank. Justin took a deep breath, still felt blank, breathed in, in, in and back out, and with something almost like a whir, his thoughts started back up again so fast he could barely follow them.

 

“What time is it?” said Justin.

 

“What – nearly five PM,” said the trick. Justin didn’t respond for a moment, and he got impatient. “C’mon, blow me! I don’t wanna get caught by the fucking cops.”

 

Funny how the trick was getting less shy. He was getting the hang of it, how to hire a prostitute, how to fork over the cash and get what you pay for. No room for shyness.

 

So don’t be shy, Justin. Lie your ass off.

 

Justin sat back up slowly, something nameless smoothly uncoiling in his gut. 

 

“Shit,” he said easily. “I’m supposed to be home by five.”

 

“H-home?” said the trick. One of his hands edged toward the closure of his khakis, and Justin hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet.

 

“Yeah,” said Justin. “Gosh, I’m going to be in so much trouble when my dad finds out where I’ve been.”

 

The man’s eyes widened. Justin was afraid that if he started laughing now, he probably wouldn’t stop, so he kept his mouth shut. “How old are you?” he said.

 

“Fourteen,” said Justin, “but my folks say I’m tall for my age.” Justin moved one of his hands over to the door handle, and figured, hell with it. So what if the trick thought the story was bullshit. Might as well make it a tale worth remembering. 

 

“I had a growth spurt last year, because I kept eating beans and spinach. Do you like beans?” He grinned at the trick’s bemusedly horrified face. “Mom said I shouldn’t eat so many beans, y’know, gas and all, but then when I grew five inches, she said, Justin, _honey_ , eat as many beans as you want, because -”

 

“Shit,” the trick interrupted. “Shit, shit... no. You’re fucking around with me.”

 

Justin raised his eyebrows. “You can still be arrested for corrupting a minor,” he said. “Y’know. Only twelve years old, here.”

 

The trick hurriedly zipped himself back up. “Get out! Fuck you. Fuck you. I want my money back.”

 

“Fine,” said Justin, and dug the twenties out of his pocket. Tossed them in the guy’s lap. “Can I borrow some change, though? I need to call my sugar daddy. He’s from Cleveland, but people don’t approve of our rela...”

 

The next thing he knew, he was being shoved out of the car with a couple of quarters in his hand. The trick revved his motor and took off, tires squealing, and Justin finally burst out laughing. Fuck, the look on his face! Priceless.

 

Justin was really fucking cold again, but there was an odd sense of relief mixed up in the feeling, something more real and concrete and warmer than the heating in the guy’s car. 

 

He walked over to the pay phone he’d spotted earlier and lifted the receiver, putting in both quarters. He heard them clinking inside the change slot, one after another, a dull tinkle of a sound.

 

Justin stood, motionless, with the phone in his hand. 

 

Brian, he thought. It hit him all at once. What he had nearly done. What he was already doing - 

 

Oh _shit_ , _Brian_.

 

Brian, who kept making so many goddamned exceptions to his own rules for Justin. 

 

Brian, who never wanted to be a hero, and kept acting like one anyway – Brian who took Justin’s breath away with his fucked-up mixture of cynicism and caring, and Brian, Brian who wasn’t the face of God, wasn’t anyone’s savior. 

 

Who wasn’t anything more than a fucking _beautiful_ , fucked-up man that Justin was falling rapidly in love with. 

 

Fuck. How could he have been such a moron?

 

Brian was an opportunity, all right. A real one, not just some guy in search of a charitable tax deduction. Brian was all that possibility of maybe, _maybe someday_ Justin could wake up next to someone every morning, maybe have a living, breathing life model, a _partner_ – maybe, maybe if Brian wanted it too, it would work.

 

And maybe it wouldn’t. But fuck, nothing else had worked for as long as Justin could remember, so for all he knew, karma owed him one.

 

Instead of taking the chance, Justin would have been lost forever in this stupid fucking trap. Let the trick take him home. Let the guy _fuck_ him...

 

No. No more. 

 

God, Brian. He wanted to go back, wanted Brian to wrap him up in blankets, sit him down, curse at him – wanted Brian to _believe_ , to say ass-backward things like “Why the hell _don’t_ you think you’ll get through this?” Justin wanted to feel Brian inside him, gentle and unhurried. Wanted to feel Brian when neither of them was going anywhere. 

 

But karma aside, that would never happen, not while Justin was _here_ , and not _there_.

 

Brian said he had balls, maybe it was time to prove him right. 

 

Finally, he punched in the familiar numbers, trying to concentrate not on what he was doing, not on what he was going to say, but on what was going to happen next.

 

He was going to get his life back if he had to grab it by the nuts and _yank_.

 

The phone rang twice before it was picked up, and Justin’s breath caught at the sound of the voice on the other end. He couldn’t say anything for a few seconds.

 

_Hello? Hello? ...Who is this?_

 

A long pause.

 

_...Justin?_

 

He swallowed thickly, his mouth dry, and finally answered her.

 

“Hey. Mom?”


	10. Your Kingbird

Brian didn’t see Justin again for two days. 

 

On the morning of the third day, he called Michael at the comic store.

 

“Let me talk to Hunter,” he said, and Michael was puzzledly silent on the end of the line.

 

“...Okay,” he said finally, and Brian heard a muffled “It’s for you.”

 

“Yeah?” Hunter’s voice was loud, brash, and filled with static.

 

“It’s Brian,” said Brian, “Remember? The guy you want to blow. Have you seen Justin?”

 

There was a pause, and a lessening of static as Hunter shifted around.

 

“No,” said Hunter. “I haven’t seen him. But I haven’t been back to the warehouses in a few days. He’s not with you.” Not a question.

 

“No. _Shit_ ,” said Brian. 

 

“Do you think he’s in trouble? I’ll ask around with the guys,” said Hunter. “Why would he –“

 

Brian hung up. 

 

Brian braced his arms against the counter and slid slowly down, crouching forward until his forehead rested against the smooth side. 

 

His stomach felt gutted and twisted back on itself. This one kid. This one _fuck_. 

 

Justin could have picked up a bad trick – no, think positive thoughts, Justin could have frozen to death. Moved to Utah. Or simply decided a warm bed wasn’t worth being around Brian, and taken off -

 

The phone rang.

 

Brian froze.

 

It rang again, and he straightened up and grabbed it.

 

“Kinney,” he answered.

 

There was a pause.

 

“Brian,” said Justin’s voice. “It’s Justin. I need to talk to you. Can I come over?”

 

“What - Justin?” Brian swallowed. Fuck him. Fuck the little bastard. “Yes, you can come over.” 

 

He wanted to say “Where the fuck have you been?” but at the same time, was painfully aware that he didn’t have the right. 

 

Silence. He could hear Justin’s breathing, so obviously he hadn’t hung up yet.

 

“I’m coming over,” said Justin. “I’ll be there soon.”

 

“Justin –“ Brian heard a faint click. _Fuck._

 

*

 

Brian slid the door open for Justin, and paused.

 

Justin shifted to one foot. “Hey,” he said sheepishly. 

 

Justin was wearing a pair of khakis and an itchy looking gray sweater, underneath what looked like a new coat and scarf. He looked different. Healthier, more _respectable_. And he was clean, which meant that aside from the new clothes, he had access to a shower.

 

Brian stepped aside to let Justin enter. “I see you found a new sugar daddy,” he said. 

 

Justin shrugged. “Not quite. Look, Brian, I’m sorry I didn’t –“

 

“You don’t owe me anything,” said Brian. 

 

Justin fell silent and broke away from Brian’s stare. “Fuck,” he said softly. “Okay. Okay, I don’t owe you anything.” He looked back. “But I shouldn’t have made you worry.”

 

He’d be fucked if he was going to get into this particular conversation without alcohol. “Do you want anything to drink?” said Brian. 

 

“No,” said Justin, “Besides, it doesn’t look like there’s much left.” He gestured at the liquor cart.

 

Brian took a slow breath. “What are you doing here?” he asked.

 

Justin looked awkward, shy almost, but when he spoke his voice was strong. “I called my mom,” he said. 

 

*

 

Two days earlier.

 

Justin felt so out of place. He was standing in front of the door to his old house, and couldn’t think of anything but how nosey their neighbors were, and how they were probably staring at him from their windows now. 

 

It was so stupid, really, and the _last_ inane thing he should be conscious of at a time like this.

 

Justin used the doorbell, and it felt like he’d come back from the crusades. Everything was so new, and different, and exactly the same. _Exactly_ the same. He could swear he remembered those goddamn petunias from more than a year ago.

 

A flurry of motion past the curtains, and the door wrenched open, and his mom looked out at him. Justin blinked, thought she looked older, and then her arms were around him and pressing him close.

 

“Justin,” she said. “Justin. Oh.” She drew back and put her hand to her mouth, staring at his thinner face, taking in everything – his shivering form, his beat-up leather jacket, his rolled-up Brian jeans, “Oh, thank God,” she said, and smoothed her hands over his shoulders.

 

Justin thought this was probably his cue to say hello, or assure her that he’d been perfectly fine this past year. Maybe even say, “So, how’s the asshole that you married? Does he remember his queer son?” 

 

But instead, he started crying.

 

*

 

“Do you want anything?” Jennifer asked for the third time. She hovered in the corner of the room, drifting closer as if to touch him, and then drawing back at the last second. Justin guessed she was afraid that if she overstepped any bounds, that he’d freak out and run away.

 

Again.

 

“No, mom,” Justin said. “I’m fine. And thanks for the –“ he waved his handful of Kleenex.

 

“You’re welcome,” Jennifer said, and resumed watching him.

 

Justin felt tears threaten at the back of his throat again. “Just... just sit down, okay? I...”

 

“Oh, honey,” she said, and in a flash she was next to him again. Justin never knew she could move that fast. 

 

Once she was by his side, she sat down more slowly. “Justin, God, where do I even begin?” she said.

 

Justin coughed and blinked hard. “Umm,” he said. “Where’s Dad?” Fuck. He sounded like a little kid.

 

Jennifer pressed her lips together and took him by the hand. “He... your father and I are getting a divorce.”

 

“...Oh.”

 

“That’s why I was trying to find you,” she said. “I thought –“ her voice broke. “- that if you knew he wouldn’t be around, that maybe you would come back home. Justin, where have you been staying all this time?”

 

“But he was looking for me too,” Justin said. “I saw him. Twice –“

 

“I know,” said Jennifer. “I asked him not to, but he didn’t listen. But, Justin - he loves you, Justin, and he wanted to find you as much as I did.”

 

“Did he ever tell you what he said?” said Justin. He furiously wiped his eyes with the snotty Kleenex, and Jennifer handed him some fresh ones. Her face looked pained, and Justin took that as a yes.

 

“He didn’t mean anything by it, sweetie, he just –“

 

Justin felt a sudden hot, prickly rush of anger.

 

“FUCK!” Justin tore himself away and stood, whirling around furiously. “I don’t fucking care! And why the fuck are you defending him?” 

 

He was so fucking _mad_ , so _terrified_. For no reason. This was supposed to be the easy part, right? All the bad shit was over with now.

 

“Please,” said Jennifer. Her face was blotchy and tears were starting to run down her cheeks. “Please, Justin. Don’t do this. Just stay, and listen?”

 

He wanted to stay. God. Oh, god. Justin turned away and covered his face with his hands. “Mom.” He stopped. “Mom, you know what I’ve been doing. Tell me you at least guessed.”

 

She was silent behind him.

 

“I, um. It was hard. Really fucking hard, you know?”

 

“I know, Justin,” she said. “I’m so sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am that any of this happened.”

 

“But it did happen, Mom.” He turned back to her. “And now I have to live with it. Right? Because I fucked up.”

 

She bit her lip. “You’re not the only one that did,” Jennifer said.

 

*

 

Brian reached out and gripped Justin’s shoulder, drawing him closer. Justin took a breath and stepped into Brian’s side, placing one hand on Brian’s chest.

 

“What _did_ your father say to you?” asked Brian.

 

Justin shook his head. “It wasn’t much. But at the time –   
God, Brian, I was such a fucking mess.”

 

Brian tilted Justin’s head back and kissed him swiftly, his tongue lapping at Justin’s upper lip. 

 

“Shh,” Brian whispered when he drew away. “Don’t think about it now. Y’know... for a day or two there, I actually thought you were done being a pain in my ass.”

 

“I know you were worried,” Justin whispered back. “I’m sorry, I just wanted to get my shit together before I -”

 

The phone rang.

 

“Fuck,” said Brian, and he released Justin from his hold, stalked over to the kitchen counter, and picked it up. 

 

“What?” he growled.

 

*

 

“Hey, Brian,” said Michael. “Hunter told me you were calling about that kid earlier. Justin, right? Well, you’ll never guess what I just heard.”

 

Pause.

 

“Yeah, well he came into the diner today, and asked if they were hiring.”

 

“No, apparently someone had just quit, so Mom hired him on the spot. Then she took him to the back, y’know, to show him the ropes? Anyway, they ended up having this whole heart-to-heart about the kid’s parents and – You’re never gonna believe this –“

 

Pause.

 

“Asshole. No, I –“

 

Hunter came up and waved a feather-duster in Michael’s face, but he batted it out of the way with a glare.

 

“Yeah,” he said, “Shut up - _Anyway._ He’s going to be living at my mom’s place. Mom gave him my old room. He’s going to be sleeping in my bed! She hasn’t touched anything in my room for _years_ , and then this kid off the street –“

 

Pause.

 

“Fine, then, if you don’t have the precious time to talk to me. I just wanted to tell you, cause...”

 

Michael quit pacing. “No, not because I’m pathetic. Shut up. I just thought you’d like to know where he is. You’ve been worried the past couple of days, I can tell.”

 

Michael listened for a second, eyes wide, then smirked, glad that Brian couldn’t see his face. “Oh, _really_ , cause I thought you kinda liked the kid.”

 

He listened again, shaking his head. “No, Brian, it’s pretty fucking obvious. I... no, it’s just different, is all.” Pause. Michael’s eyebrows lifted. “Shit! He’s there right now, isn’t he?”

 

Hunter let out a disgusted “Fuck!” and Michael ignored him.

 

“No, no, talk to you later. Have fun. Actually, wait... see you at Babylon tonight?”

 

Pause. Grin.

 

“Okay, fine. Another time. Oh, and Brian? You should bring your new boytoy.”

 

The receiver thudded down on the other end of the call. Michael looked wistful for a few seconds, then smiled slightly to himself, and placed the cordless phone back on the charger.

 

*

 

“I was getting to that part next,” said Justin.

 

Brian nodded and looked at Justin. He tapped his knuckles on the counter absently.

 

“Are you going to say anything?” asked Justin. His voice was low and tense. 

 

What the fuck was Brian supposed to say? It was just hitting him now. The closeness that they seemed to have developed over the past few days was abruptly gone. 

 

Brian felt like he was trapped in a room with some strange kid that kept insisting they knew each other. This was unfamiliar ground.

 

“Sure. I think it’s good that you got out of it,” said Brian, and he tried to hide his discomfort, but his words came out rather distantly. “It took guts.” 

 

“Hustling,” said Justin. “ _Hustling._ Not ‘it’. Fuck. It didn’t take guts, it didn’t take anything, _Brian_ –“

 

“What?” snapped Brian. He blinked at his own angered outburst, but Justin ignored it.

 

“Brian,” Justin said again, getting up and walking toward him. “All it took was me getting off my ass, and doing the right thing.”

 

Brian’s lips twitched. “I know.”

 

“And I did that, because I finally realized something.” Justin stood in front of Brian, reached up and hesitantly traced his mouth with a finger. “That morning, the morning I went to see Mom, I’d been telling you that you should do something about Stockwell. I – fuck, I guess I wanted you to be some sort of hero.” 

 

Brian let Justin’s hand drop without acknowledgement, and watched as Justin stood motionless, only an arms length away.

 

“But then,” said Justin, “I thought – how can I expect you to be someone I can look up to, someone to admire, when I can’t even admire myself?”

 

Brian’s heart thudded painfully. “...Do you admire yourself now?” he asked. 

 

Justin smiled at him. “Not yet,” he said, “But I think maybe I’m on the right track.”

 

Brian was wrong. He still knew this one. He reached out –

 

*

 

and Justin shivered under him, groaning softly.

 

“Shh –“ Brian cupped one hand over Justin’s shoulder blades and bent closer, driving himself farther in. Justin’s spine stretched out with his slow thrust.

 

Stomach muscles tensed, Brian glanced down to where they were joined – dark and shadowy, saw where his cock was disappearing into Justin’s pale, splayed flesh. “Fuck,” Brian growled. “You’re so –“ he broke off and rested his forehead on Justin’s back. 

 

Justin gasped a laugh. “Amazing?” he said. “Gorgeous? ’I’m so’ what?”

 

“You’ve got a hot ass,” was all Brian said, but he reached under Justin’s hips and grabbed his dick, and that changed the subject pretty quickly.

 

“Ah!” Justin reared back and twisted, Brian’s cock sending shattered sparks through his body, blood rushing to his cheeks and making his face flush with heat. “Brian,” he panted – “... _harder_.”

 

*

 

Brian had the faint idea that it was still daylight outside. He lay curled on his side, away from Justin, eyes closed. But Justin was spread over him, entangling their fingers and knees together, breathing hot air in his ear. 

 

Brian was about to nudge Justin’s face in the other direction, to try to get some fucking sleep, but before he could, Justin started to speak.

 

“I remember,” he said in a whisper. “The first time I met you. The first time you fucked me. Do you?” He paused and seemed to be waiting for a reply.

 

Brian shrugged. “Yeah,” he said tiredly. “Some of it.” It was the truth, and Justin seemed satisfied with his answer.

 

“You were really high. And way intense,” Justin continued. “And I kept thinking that you were so amazing. ...The next morning, I told my friend Daphne that you were the face of God.”

 

Brian chuckled. “That’s a new one.” Justin smiled against his neck.

 

“Yeah,” he said softly. “And it was young, naïve, first-time bullshit. I know. But I also know...” he kissed Brian on the jaw, mouthed the skin there faintly. He pressed his tongue to the spot, tasting Brian’s dried sweat. 

 

“Days later, I could still feel you inside me,” Justin breathed. “Just like now.”

 

*

 

Later, Justin got dressed, said, “I think I should go.”

 

“If you want to,” said Brian slowly, “Then you should go.”

 

Justin cocked his head slightly. “I don’t want to,” he said, “But I’m going anyway.”

 

He backed out of Brian’s arms, and turned and walked towards the door. When he reached it, he looked back.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, maybe,” said Justin. “My first shift at the diner. You can laugh at me trying to stack dishes, and we can fuck after I get off work. Is it a plan?”

 

“Yeah,” said Brian, “If I don’t find anyone better before then.”

 

Justin grinned. “I doubt it,” he said. “I bet I’m the best fuck you’ve ever had.”

 

Brian raised an eyebrow, glaring until Justin laughed and left. He stood there utterly still until the door shut behind Justin, and for a long time after.

 

Finally, Brian went over to his computer and turned it on, sitting down thoughtfully.

 

He stared at the screen.

 

“Fuck it,” Brian said softly. “And fuck ‘em all.”

 

He double-clicked on the folder marked “Stockwell Campaign”. 

 

*

 

“Hustle that ass of yours a bit faster, Sunshine,” Debbie called. “It’s fucking busy in here!”

 

Justin smiled to himself and carefully grabbed a couple more plates of food, trying not to laugh at Debbie’s muttered afterthought, “Oh fuck, could’ve phrased that better.”

 

Swinging his hips slightly, he made his way over to the table and presented the dishes to their respective destinations. 

 

One of the men in the booth looked a bit haggard, but grinned at him. “Well, hello sweetie,” he said. “You’re new here.”

 

Justin nodded. “First day. I’m a little slow.”

 

“Well might I just say, honey, you look fucking _gorgeous_ in that apron. Nothing else’ll really matter to these discerning folks.” The guy winked and brandished a fork at him.

 

“Thanks,” said Justin, “Enjoy your doughnut,” and then Debbie called for him again.

 

He darted behind the counter. “Yeah?”

 

“Table four needs more coffee,” said Debbie. “And table seven just left you a big tip.”

 

“Got it,” said Justin, and took off again. 

 

On his way over to table four, he nearly ran right into Brian’s friend Michael. “Oh,” he said. “Hey.”

 

Michael looked either uncomfortable or amused, possibly both. He nodded and said “Hey” back, and sat down at a booth. He was followed by a really buff, _hot_ guy that must be his boyfriend, and then of course by –

 

“...Hunter.” 

 

Hunter paused, and they looked at each other for a moment. Hunter seemed to be sizing him up, and Justin hoped, rather oddly, that he’d pass the inspection.

 

“Yo, dude,” said Hunter finally, “’S’up,” and gave him a punch in the shoulder. Justin nearly spilled the coffee pot, but gave him a nod in return.

 

“Hey, man,” Justin said. “Good to see you.”

 

Hunter shook his hair from his eyes and shrugged coolly at Justin, then sat down at the booth. Justin took table four their coffee.

 

*

 

At the end of Justin’s shift, he was busy getting his coat when he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Phone for you, Sunshine,” said Debbie.

 

“Thanks,” he said, and tried to take the phone from her, but she held it behind her back and waved a finger in his face.

 

“ _First_ , tell me how things are going with your mother,” said Debbie, arching an eyebrow. 

 

Justin shrugged. “I’m not sure. It’s gonna take a while to really... y’know. But we’ve made plans to go out for lunch next week, and just... talk.” He knew that Debbie could detect the hopeful tone in his voice, and her eyes softened.

 

She looked at him proudly for a moment.

 

“Well, I’m fucking glad to hear that,” Debbie said. “And before you run off to go fuck that asshole, I just want to say... you did good today, kiddo.” She laughed. “I’m telling you, if you grow out that beautiful hair of yours a bit, you’ll get even bigger tips.”

 

“Thanks,” Justin said again. “I might do that.”

 

No reason to keep it short, now. And fuck, he’d never waited tables before in his whole life, yet there was still something refreshingly normal about it. He owed Debbie as much for that as for giving him a place to stay.

 

Justin found himself grinning at her, and she snapped her gum with a smile. “I’ll see you later, Deb,” he said.

 

Debbie pinched his cheek, handed him the phone, and went back out.

 

Justin brought the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

 

Pause. 

 

A smile etched its way across his face. “Yeah, I’ll be there soon,” he said.

 

*

 

“Brian,” said Justin, “How –“

 

Brian grabbed him and pulled him through the half-open door into the loft.

 

“Thanks for coming by,” he said breezily, “Care for some tea?”

 

Then he attacked Justin’s mouth with his own, running his hands down Justin’s waist and jamming them roughly into the backs of his jeans, pushing the denim down. Justin let out a muffled groan and unzipped them so Brian could get them further off.

 

Justin broke away from the kiss, gasping and grinning. “ _Brian_ , hello to you too,” he said.

 

“Less talk,” said Brian, “More fucking,” and grabbed Justin tighter, easing both of them to the floor. Justin’s back hit the cold polished wood and he hissed, and clenched one of Brian’s hands to his stomach.

 

“If you’re gonna be that way,” Justin said, “Fucking _touch_ me already.” 

 

Brian pulled away abruptly. “Wait,” he said, “Wait, I want to get your opinion on something.”

 

Justin gave him an annoyed look. “I think your cock is _definitely_ the best I’ve seen,” he said. “How’s that for an opinion?”

 

Brian laughed, but shook his head. “No,” he said, and stood up, pulling Justin to his feet and tugging his jeans back into place. “Come look at this.” 

 

He guided Justin over to his computer and sat him down in the chair, leaning over to click an icon on the desktop. Justin licked his neck and Brian laughed and batted him away. Justin smiled and was about to try again, but at the sudden seriousness in Brian’s expression, he turned to the monitor. A video file started to play.

 

_On April eleventh, two-thousand-two..._

 

Justin looked up sharply. “Brian?”

 

_Jason Kemp, age nineteen -_

 

“Shh,” said Brian, “Keep watching.”

 

Justin leaned forward and watched, feeling Brian knock nervously at the back of the chair.

 

*

 

_...Before you elect Jim Stockwell, aren’t there some questions you’d like answered?_

 

The commercial ended, and Justin sat back heavily.

 

“So?” said Brian. Justin didn’t say anything, still stunned. Brian lit a cigarette and then stubbed it out, tapping it against the ashtray four times in succession. Justin watched Brian’s actions closely, nibbling on his lower lip in thought. 

 

“I’m going to take it to Deekins tomorrow,” said Brian. “There’s still enough possible airtime before the election for it to do a lot of damage. And if Deekins doesn’t want it...” he shrugged. “I’ll figure something else out.”

 

“Brian,” Justin said softly. “I think it’s brilliant. You’re brilliant.”

 

Brian met his eyes. “Gotta get back at Stockwell any way I can, right?”

 

“Right,” said Justin, “If that’s the reason.” 

 

Brian snorted, but he looked away for a moment. Nothing but revenge? Not so much, now. Justin could tell. God, Justin was so _onto_ him.

 

His face softened, a grin spreading. “Fuck, Brian,” he said. “I love you. I really do. I really, really do.”

 

Brian smiled slightly at first, but his eyes shadowed. “Love is bullshit,” he said.

 

Justin laughed, feeling strangely light now that he’d come right out and said the words. “I don’t care. I don’t fucking care,” he said... and Brian could just live with it.

 

“You know, as far as sheer _obstinacy_ goes, I think I had you pegged. I could _tell_ that you were the type to ignore your lessons,” said Brian in a conversational tone. 

 

He rested a hand on Justin’s shoulder, totally incongruous with his words. “You probably stared at hot guys instead of listening to the teacher, right?” 

 

Justin shrugged. More true than Brian knew. “I always got good grades, though.”

 

Brian hesitated an instant, then reached out and stroked the hair above Justin’s ear. His eyes looked confused, and his mouth was tucked into a bemused square, like he couldn’t believe that Justin was sitting there. 

 

But Justin... Justin felt like he could sit there for an eternity, because whatever he had been looking for, he could see it now in Brian’s face. 

 

The moment passed quickly, as soon as Justin took a breath, but echoes of it lingered in Brian’s touch.

 

“Well,” said Justin, still smiling, leaning his head into Brian’s palm, “I believe you said something about less talk, more fucking?”

 

“You’re a bright one,” said Brian, “I _did_ say that,” and kissed him.


End file.
